Survival Instinct
by the morrighan
Summary: Fallout from the enzyme results in tragic consquences.
1. Chapter 1

Survival Instinct

White.

John Sheppard stared at the melting ice cream. The swirls of white that could have been vanilla but he knew were caramel. The darker chocolate swirls intermingling in the carton. Beneath it all he knew lurked the sweet center, a pure dollop of caramel that Moira O'Meara enjoyed immensely. Her reaction almost orgastic. But John had other ideas about how to induce those particular feelings and sensations in her.

Grabbing the carton he turned, surveyed the cafeteria. There were not many people in the room at this odd hour. Too early for dinner but too late for lunch most were drinking, snacking, chatting quietly. He spotted Moira sitting in the back, sipping a soda, absorbed in a thick book as she turned the pages. He smiled, but schooled his expression to neutrality. Headed for her.

Moira studied the various pictures of mosses and lichens, scanned the text. Eyes glazing over the Latin names and she briefly smiled. Realizing she was having the same reaction John did when she rambled on in Latin about animals and evolution. A carton of ice cream appeared in front of her. She eyed the flavor written on the side. Met John's gaze as he smiled, sat across from her. He dropped a spoon into the creamy depths. She made a face. "No, thank you. I don't think I ever want to eat that again."

John quietly laughed. Brilliant green eyes sparkling. "Really, Moira? It is your favorite. And now mine." He touched the spoon. Scooped some ice cream into it and slid it into his mouth. "Funny, that. I can't seem to get enough."

She frowned, recalling the way he had dripped the ice cream on her naked body. Had proceeded to lick every last drop off her skin. "John," she warned, brown eyes narrowing.

He spooned another bite. "Mmm," he hummed. Slid the spoon slowly from his mouth. Ran it teasingly along his lower lip. "This is very, very good...you were right, Moira. But something...something is missing. Some other flavor," he said slowly, an intimate edge to his voice making her react. Blush. "Some other com--" he drew out the word, "–plimentary flavor I tasted last time."

"John! You are so not funny!" she snapped, shifting on the chair. Irritated.

He smiled, swirled the spoon, ate some more. Slid the spoon out slowly as her gaze was riveted on his mouth. He tapped it against his lips. Turned it to lick the back of the spoon, catching any stray drops of ice cream, of caramel. "Mmm...I just love the taste of that sweet, sweet center," he intoned. Sensuality all but thrumming in his voice. In his gaze as he stared at her.

"John!" She snatched the ice cream from him. "Stop it! We are not doing that again!"

"Moira? Of course we are, baby. Only this time you'll be the one doing the licking." He raised his brows, grinning at her. Enjoying her flustered stare, her annoyance. Her arousal. "We've waited long enough. Tonight. Twenty-one hundred. Yours."

"Huh?" She asked, trying to tear her gaze from his mouth as he licked his lips. The sheer sensuality of his mouth trapping her. The curves of his soft lips, full and kissable. The lower one wet now, inviting her to nibble, to suck. Tongue darting with the promise of passion. Pleasure. The memory of deep, long kisses making her heart race, her pulse pound.

John smiled, lounging back in the chair. But he sighed. "Nine o'clock, you civvy," he teased. "Just like I said. Twenty-one hundred. Yours. The three of us," he pointed at the carton she clutched in one hand, "are going to have a very, very gooey time."

"What? You...this...I..." she stammered.

"Are you sure you don't want a taste now? Of the ice cream, I mean. Or do I?" he teased, shifting in the chair to give her a generous view of his crotch. The tight grey pants outlining his own reactions to their flirtation.

"You, you...you...fuck you, John," she mildly scolded, irritated, embarrassed, aroused all at once.

He laughed. "Yes, Moira, please, that is the general idea. Wow, you really are a biologist, aren't you, baby?" He smirked as she glared at him, grabbed the book off the table. "Oh, Doctor O'Meara, do you need a spare?" He laughed. "You know, Moira, normally I'm not into threesomes but if it turns you on then I guess I'll–"

"Sir? Colonel Sheppard?"

At the interruption John straightened in his seat. All passion, all playfulness gone from his face. He slowly turned his head to eye the nervous man standing near the table. "Captain Hughes."

"Sir! Um, sir, there's been a fight, well, fights in the exercise room," the man stammered, shifting his weight from foot to foot under John's irritated glare.

"Isn't that what it's for?" John quipped, but hardly amused at the interruption. He could feel Moira's gaze on him, studying. Reacting.

"Yes, sir. But not this. I mean, several men have been injured, sir. Larson's arm is broken! And Dobbs has a bloody nose. He says it was an accident, all of it, but several men are down and Larson sent me to get you to–"

"He? Ronon?" John guessed.

"Yes, sir."

John sighed. Glanced at Moira. "Lead on, Hughes." He stood, waited until the captain's stride moved him several paces from the table. "Don't forget, Moira. Yours. Twenty-one hundred. Tonight. Ice cream, but no spoons." He smiled as she frowned.

"Hilarious, John. Stand down," she retorted, clutching the carton in one hand, the book in the other.

"Don' t you dare start without me. Either of you." He chuckled at her dirty look, strode after the waiting captain.

***************************************************************************

Ronon Dex swung. And swung. Spun on his heels. Fists flying. Arms grabbing, whirling, pinning his opponents in tremendous holds, then releasing them. Legs flying up to kick, to injure, to maim with expert blows. To disable. They came at him all at once and Ronon took them all with a fierce grin of enjoyment on his face.

Until he was left standing in the middle of the exercise room. Muscles taut, but not too tired. He stared, blinked. Stared again at the carnage that had ensued. Men were sprawled on the floor. Blood stained the wall. Groans and swearing filled the air. Ronon flexed his hands into fists, then stretched his fingers. Met John's gaze suddenly as the other men entered the room. Stood staring around in disbelief, in bewilderment. "Uh...Sheppard...I..."

John stared at him. Brows furrowed. "I wanted you to train these men, not kill them."

"Sorry. I guess I got carried away. I didn't mean to hurt anyone," Ronon offered, shrugged. Rubbed at his split lip. The scabbing bruise was itching.

"Get to the infirmary, all of you," John ordered. Watched as they helped each other to their feet. Bloody. Battered. Bruised. John noted the broken sticks lying on the floor. "Carried away?"

"Yes. I couldn't stop. I just kept...it felt so good! I mean...I didn't mean to hurt anyone," Ronon repeated, uncomfortable. "I just felt like I needed a, a..."

"Release," John realized. Swore. "Must be the enzyme. Carson said it should leave our bodies naturally...and in your case that would be this way. How do you feel now?"

"Me? Fine. More than fine, actually." He grinned, flexed his arms. "Care to test me?"

"No. Just go for a run, or something," John advised.

"Hey, Sheppard, where's Moira?" Ronon asked, a smile on his face. A knowing smile.

John scowled. "Not funny. Until we get this shit cleared out of our systems we won't be released for active duty."

"Huh. Seriously, where is Moira?"

"Mine," John simply stated. Eyed the sticks, the blood. "Clean this up, will you? I've got work to do." He strode out of the exercise room, shaking his head.

***************************************************************************

Matthew Parrish sat back, hands on his thighs. "Extraordinary! I've compared all of these samples and so far the results are the same! See for yourself!" He turned the microscope towards Katie Brown. "That enzyme's chemical properties are astounding! Subtly different in the moss itself, in the flowers, and in the distilled water we were drinking. As if it adapts to each new source, each new modification of its environment!"

Katie studied the slide. "I see! Wait! Are those blood cells?"

"Yes, mine. I wanted to see how it was affecting my system on a purely molecular–"

"Matthew!" Moira hastened to them, book slung under her arm. "What have you done? Please tell me you didn't imbibe any of that enzyme, however diluted!"

"What?" He met her gaze, shook his head. "Of course not, Moira. The sample is from me. Now. We still have a residual amount, as Carson said, in our systems. It's not breaking down."

"What?" Moira stared. Set the book on the counter. "Are you sure?"

"See for yourself," Katie invited, stepping back from the table. "At least it's not breaking down quickly. It's almost a symbiotic relationship with the cells."

Moira stared into the microscope. "Oh no...but how? This is a diluted version! The raw form is much more potent! The moss itself, the flowers! When ingested."

"This form is much more insidious," Matthew explained, moving to his feet. "And in my case it was introduced directly into my bloodstream, via my injury. And drinking it. But I think that the injury itself may have been the perfect conduit for the enzyme to adhere to the cells."

"Wonderful. How do you feel?"

"Fine. Well...to be honest, a little light-headed. Like I'm coming down from a high. Withdrawal symptoms," he stated, swaying a little. He rubbed his brow.

"It should work itself out eventually. Go lie down, Matthew. You don't look so good," Moira advised, glancing at Katie who nodded. "We can finish this for now. The work will still be here tomorrow."

"Yes...that's a good idea, Moira. How are you feeling?"

"On edge...like you said...withdrawal." She considered. "I better let Colonel Sheppard know. And make sure Evan is okay. And Ronon. They won't know what to expect."

"None of us do," Matthew remarked.

****************************************************************************

Evan Lorne was running. Strong, steady paces as he circled the city, running through the long, abandoned hallways of the upper levels. Shadows and lights stripling his form as he pumped his legs, swung his arms. Could feel his heart beating faster, faster. Taking deep, shallow breaths as the energy surges compelled him to keep moving. Instead of feeling tired he felt exhilarated

He finally paused to catch his breath, to rest. He walked leisurely back down to the occupied levels. Felt stares as he passed people. Smiled, shrugged. Caught sight of Moira exiting the botany lab and jogged up to meet her. "Moira!"

She smiled, stared. "Evan? What have you been doing?" She stared at his messy hair, sweaty t-shirt and running pants.

"Working out. Well, jogging. I feel like I'm in a cage, cooped up in the city for this long."

"It's only been a week, well, almost a week," she amended. Touched his arm. "It's the enzyme, Evan. You're having withdrawal symptoms. Matthew's having problems too."

"Problems? I feel fine! More than fine. I could still run rings around Atlantis if I wanted. What about you?"

"I'm fine, just a little...tense. It seems to be affecting us in different ways," she said, thinking of John. But he had seemed fine too. Normal.

"I bet. Oh...I get it. I guess you don't have to go running. Not with seeing Sheppard and all. I bet you've got another way to work off this excess energy."

"What? Evan!"she scolded. "No! It's not like–"

"So he's dumped you, then?"

"No! I just meant we haven't...we...oh never mind!"

Evan laughed. "Whatever, Moira. Frankly I'm surprised to see you here now. I mean, if Sheppard is feeling even half of what I'm experiencing...well...don't let the bedbugs bite."

"Evan Lorne!" she scolded, but he laughed.

"Just kidding, Moira. Gotta run. Need a shower." He sprinted down the hall, out of sight. Moira stared after him, puzzled. Concerned. She shook her head, quickly strode to find John. Wondered why they weren't similarly affected.

**************************************************************************

John leaned against the console, lazily running his fingers over the controls. The machine hummed to life, lighting up quickly. He laughed, freed the buttons. Let his hand rest on the top of the console. "You see? What did I tell you? Magic fingers."

The blond technician laughed merrily, smiling. Eyes all but devouring him. "You did, colonel. You do have the magic touch, don't you?" she suggested, blue eyes flashing with seduction.

"I do. In more ways than one," he hinted, smiling as he tilted his head. Green eyes brilliant as they glanced over the woman's body. The curves under her bland blue shirt and slacks. The blond hair piled on top of her head.

Moira was staring, overhearing the exchange. She coughed as she approached, gaze glancing briefly at his rear caressed by the gray pants he wore. The double holster strap around his thigh.

"Colonel Sheppard, excuse me. I need to speak to you. About the mission."

John glanced at her, turning slightly. Raised a brow. "Mission's over, Doctor O'Meara. Besides, I'm rather busy here right now." He smiled at the woman. "So...you were telling me all about your operating system?" The woman beamed at him.

Moira rolled her eyes. "This is important, colonel. It concerns the residual affects of the enzyme. Surely you've noticed."

He glanced at her again. Saw her ire. Enjoyed it. "Noticed what, exactly? Ah. Are you experiencing any sudden residual affects, doctor? Do you need my assistance to assuage any particular culinary cravings you may have?"

"No! But apparently you are having withdrawal symptoms, colonel!" She calmed herself. "Seriously, John, I need to talk to you about this. It's affecting us in different ways."

"I already know, Moira, and Carson assured me it was only temporary. Until we work it out of our systems." His gaze lingered on her. "I'm fine. Not affected like the rest. Now, if you don't mind I have work to do." He turned back to the woman gazing dreamily at him. "Where were we? Ah, yes, operating systems."

Moira sighed. "Just don't have a manual overload, colonel," she quipped angrily, stalked away from him. He snorted with laughter, turned to watch her leave.

***************************************************************************

Moira stared into the microscope. Shook her head. "Matthew was right," she muttered. "I'm no botanist but there is a difference in each sample, in each sequence. How can that be when it's all the same enzyme? It's modifications are almost like a bacteria."

John smirked, entering the botany lab. Finding Moira alone, muttering at a microscope. Leaning over to peer into the lens. "Is one of the residual affects talking to oneself?"

Moira straightened, looked over her shoulder. John was sauntering towards her. "Where's Katie? I was talking to her." She turned back to the microscope, ignoring him.

John reached her. Touched the small of her back. Fingers caressing. "Now, Moira," he began in a conciliatory tone.

"Managed to tear yourself away, did you, colonel?" she snapped, unable to help herself, the flare of jealousy.

He gently laughed, stepped closer. Leaned to say into her ear, "There's no need to be jealous, Moira. Is it my fault women find me desirable?"

"It must be quite a burden for you, John. Go away. There's no room in this lab for your ego."

He laughed again. Most women fawned over him. But not Moira. She was giving him the cold shoulder. He found it refreshing. Charming. Arousing. "Maybe not. But I know where there is room for my ordnance. A nice, snug fit but fit all the same."

"Shut up, John!" She elbowed him, glaring at the microscope. Felt hot suddenly. "Go back to your technician if you need to deploy!"

He turned the stool towards him, a quick, abrupt motion of his hands grabbing the seat. Yanked her to her feet and kissed her, arms encircling her to press against his body. She shoved herself back from him but he held her close. Smiled. "I could," he considered, tilting his head in obvious flirtation, "but I don't have to go to all that effort, do I? You're mine already, Moira. And I only want your sweet, sweet center."

She glared, pushed again but he wouldn't budge. Kept her in place. "You arrogant bastard! I don't belong to you!"

"Yes, you do," he mildly noted. "In fact I am seriously thinking of restricting that pert little ass of yours to this base solely for my pleasure. And for yours," he added as an afterthought.

Moira hit his chest. "What the hell is wrong with you? It must be the enzyme! I tried to tell you earlier about the residual affects but you were too busy lining up your next conquest!"

"Conquest?" He raised a brow, amused. "The only conquest I am planning on is you. Tonight. The ways I want to take you, Moira, will take you."

"Damn it, will you let go of me!" she flared, pushing. But he like a rock, unmovable. She felt a strange frisson, feeling how strong he was, how easily he could overpower her. Although she knew he would never hurt her. "It's the enzyme! Of course with you the affects would be sexual, now wouldn't they? The enzyme is making you–"

"Blah, blah, blah," he retorted. "Enough about the fucking enzyme, Moira. This is me. You." His hands slid down to grasp her rear, to gently squeezed. "I want sex. With you." He kissed her. So passionately she lost her breath. She grabbed his arms as he leaned her back, back, into the table, tongue probing, possessing. Hands squeezing, squeezing, sliding lower now, between her legs. Hearing the murmur trapped in her throat he pulled back, righting her. "See? Mine.

Take it or leave it, baby. So?"

"Wha..what?" Moira was dazed, dazzled. Anger replaced by desire. His tongue and fingers creating a rushing desire in her. A rushing need.

John smiled. "Here? Or your bed?"

She collected herself. Shoved free. "Stop calling me baby!" she flared. "Go take a cold shower, colonel!"

"Only if you get that pert little ass in there with me, baby," he teased.

"Shut up, John! Go away!" Instead she strode to the doorway, furious, yet elated.

"Baby, baby," John called after her, amused. Aroused. "Tonight, baby!"

"Shut the hell up!" she snapped over her shoulder. His laughter chased after her.

************************************************************************

Moira looked at her door as a knock sounded. She glanced at the clock. The glowing numbers read nine thirty. Another knock. Then a voice. "Moira?" John's voice. "Ice cream delivery for Moira O'Meara. Spoons optional."

She sighed, moved to open the door. John stood, hands empty. He smiled. "What took you so long?" she asked, blocking the threshold as he stood in the hallway. She crossed her arms under her breasts, frowning at him.

"Sorry. I have things to do, you know. Being military commander of Atlantis and all." His gaze raked over her loose, billowing hair. The lavender nightshirt she wore that fell to her bare knees. The fuzzy socks on her feet.

"Such as chatting up well-endowed blonds?" she griped. "I'm sorry, colonel, but you seem to have misunderstood. Nothing's going to happen here. Besides, you're late, colonel, so goodnight." She made to close the door.

John caught her hand before she could activate the panel. "Whoa, whoa, there, doctor. I don't think so. I told you, baby, that was nothing. So...jungle queen. Are you wearing any panties under that?" He caught the hem of her nightshirt in his hand, lifted it up.

She swatted his hand away, dropping the material back to her knees. "John Sheppard! You–"

"It's time," he brusquely said, trying to move past her but she blocked him.

"Time for what, John?" she asked innocently. "To go to sleep. Then go. You have your own bed, don't you?"

"Hilarious, Moira. Yes, I do have my own bed, but I prefer yours." He gently moved her aside, entered the room. Strode to the bed. He turned to watch as she closed the door. "You're beautiful, Moira."

She looked at him, disbelieving. "You'd say anything to get what you want.. I'm still finding grime in places."

He laughed, sat to remove his shoes, socks. Stood to remove his belt. "Tell me about it. I don't know how many times I've washed those socks and they're still dirty!" He pulled off his black t-shirt. Removed his gray pants. Laid back on the bed, scooting up to the pillows. Let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Ah...God...that feels so good!"

She smirked, shook her head. "I sometimes think you're only here to have sex with the bed, and I just happen to get in the way."

He laughed, opened his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Moira. I sleep on your bed. I have sex with you. On this bed. Or in it. Only you, Moira," he assured. "Despite your stubbornness."

She laughed, moved to sit next to him. Leaned over to turn out the lights with a wave of her hand. "I'm still a whole week behind on my Wraith tissue analysis, and now two issues behind on my paleontology journals that came when we were gone. And a paleozoological paper on what we found on Pleistocene Park, not to mention this new botanical research into the..." She paused as he pretended to snore loudly. She elbowed him, laughed as he did. "I suppose you missed your latest magazine about guns and ammo?"

He rolled onto his side towards her, ran his hand down her back. "Yes. Two issues." He gently drew her down to him. Rolled her onto her stomach as she propped herself up on her elbows. "About the latest weaponry." He swept her hair aside. He slid up the nightshirt. She moved as the fabric caught, came free. "About military precision." He kissed her shoulders, ran his mouth down her back, down her spine to her rear. "About military thrust." He cupped her rear, squeezed. "About the tightest pert little ass in the galaxy," he said against her back, moving over her. Shifting.

"John?" she asked, voice catching in her throat as his hands slid down to part her thighs. He debated, wondered if she was ready for that yet. Considered. "Lift. Roll," he instructed, deciding to wait. He slid off her. She rolled onto her back. He smiled, kissed her. "We should put the light on," he suggested, hands wandering slowly over her body.

"No...this is good enough," she retorted. The glow from the city lights illuminated his handsome face. The contours of his body. Hid her tension, her curiosity at what he had been intending but decided against. She watched him sit and wriggle, removing his boxer shorts.

"Loose the nightshirt," he instructed. Looked down at his watch, fiddling with the buttons.

"What are you doing, John? Are you going to time us now?" she asked, sitting up to pull off the nightshirt, set it to one side, in easy reach.

He laughed. "Hmm...there's an idea. No. Setting the alarm. Four in the morning should do it."

"Do what?" she asked, mystified. She ran her hand up his bare back.

"Should give me time to get back into my clothes, and back into my room before anyone sees me," he explained, still focused on the watch. The glowing dial as he set the alarm.

Moira sighed, scooted closer to him, hand running up and down his bare arm. "Surely that doesn't matter any more, does it? I mean, Evan and Ronon know. Now. As does Carson. I want you to stay all night with me, John. I want to wake up with you in this bed."

"That's more than enough who happen to know," he argued. "More than enough," he grumbled. "I told you, Moira, I want our private life private."

"You mean yours," she accused.

"Yes," he agreed. "Although I'm sure half the base knows something's going on, given our loud enjoyment. Well, yours, baby...your noisy exuberance." He met her gaze, grinned.

She frowned, smacked his arm. "Shut up, John! Oh! So that's why you rarely call my name when you come? Instead you issue a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush."

He smirked. "Yeah. Intense, satisfying sex always makes me do that."

"Hilarious, John. I guess that makes sense. Instead of grunting out a different woman's name very few weeks."

He frowned. "That's not funny, Moira."

"Much easier for you, colonel, isn't it? Not to have to remember which of your lots–"

"Some, some damn it!" he interjected but she continued.

"–of women to call out when you get what you want from them. I guess I should stop calling your name during climax," she persisted relentlessly. Drew away from him.

"No. Don't you dare! I love that. I need that, baby," he argued, voice low as his gaze raked over her. He reached for her but she swatted his hand.

"Oh! I know! I'll refine it. Oh John. Oh John, oh John, John Anderson!"she mimicked her breathy, whimpering tone when she came under him.

John scowled. Pushed her onto her back. Moved over her and pinned her beneath him. "Who the hell is John Anderson?" he nearly growled, gaze boring into hers.

Moira smiled. Wondered if he had any idea how hot he was when he was pissed. Gaze so intense she felt a thrill in her body, a tightening response. She shifted under him, against him. "John Anderson is a computer tech. He re-wired my system once. And it was good, so very good, you wouldn't believe it! Oh John Anderson!" she softly moaned.

He kissed her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Shoving his body against hers. Keeping her pinned beneath him. "Enough, Moira! It's not funny!"

"No, it's not, John! Your obsession with discretion verges on paranoia, do you know that? Oh! I know! I'll just say this. Oh sweetie, oh sweetie, oh sweetie!"

"No! You will not call me that during sex," he ordered sternly. Kissed her again. A deep, probing kiss to make her murmur, react. Ran his mouth along her throat. "You will say oh John like you always do when I bring you." He nibbled her earlobe, tongue darting to lick behind to make her whimper, arch into him. "Got it, baby?"

"John, oh John," she whispered, hands roving over him as he ran his mouth down to her breasts, sliding along her body.

"Hmm..." he groaned, considering. Lifted his head to meet her amorous gaze. "My Moira, what do you think? Full throttle? Or a full, slow recon?"

She smiled. "Hmm...colonel. I'm thinking a slow, leisurely recon. Lots to explore and survey."

"Good. Just what I was..." The knocking on the door made him pause in his slow seductions.

"Damn it. Not now," he grumbled against her breasts. "Get rid of whoever."

"Yes?" she called, squirming as his mouth moved lower, lower. "John, wait!" she cautioned in a terse whisper. Fingers in his hair.

"Moira? It's Katie. Have you gone to bed?"

"Yes," John answered, voice muffled at her waist.

"Yes," Moira replied loudly, drawing out the word as John's mouth covered the scar on her side. Then wandered to her hips. His fingers playing along her sides, slightly turning her. "John, wait!" she hissed, moving but he only continued downwards. Stubborn.

"Oh, sorry! I'll see you tomorrow then?" Katie Brown asked, staring at the closed door. Wondering at Moira's odd tone of voice.

"Yes, goodnight," John answered against her skin. Fingers pushing apart her thighs. Wider. Wider still as he shifted on her. Warm skin scraping hers. Hair tickling.

Moira gasped. "Yes. Goodnight," she managed to articulate before she muffled her moan, her breathless gasp against her hand. Her body jerked, lifted of its own accord as he kissed and nibbled his way lower, lower. Determined now as her arousal drew him like a magnet. Like a bee to the nectar as his kisses traveled along her inner thigh, then plunging into the welcoming opening. Moira's moan was strangled in her throat, a whimpering exhalation as her body tightened, flooded, squirmed wildly beneath his attentions. His strong hands on either thigh keeping her in place.

John freed her, lifted up suddenly. Her noises of excitement and surprise arousing, amusing. He smiled. "Should I stop, Moira?" His gaze burned over her body.

"I...I...no. John, John, don't stop, don't..."she whispered in a stammer, as if ashamed to voice such desires out loud.

"Good. Slow, slow recon for my Moira. And I don't even need the ice cream," he teased, kissing along her thigh again. Making her body dance to his teasing seductions. Her need accelerating, pulsing until she thought she couldn't bear it any longer. Her soft cries of his name escalating louder, louder. Until he couldn't hold back any longer. So hard and stiff now he slid up, up, into her to achieve mutual satisfaction. Release.

Moira's throat became hoarse from all the sounds she couldn't stop. The cries of passion, of pleasure, only to be echoed by John moments later. The straining crescendo of climax after climax breaking upon the still air. The only other sound the rhythmic motion of the bed as it was pounded, pounded. Harder and faster. Faster still, a virtual vibration slamming the wall until the result was achieved . The sounds grew softer, faded. The bed became still. Quiet.

John rolled onto his back, wiped his brow. He licked his lips, sat as thirst seized him. Echoes of pleasure running along his body. His skin sweaty, sticky. He laid back, too tired to move. Glanced over at Moira. She was breathing heavily, breasts rising into the gold city lights. Sweat trickled. "Moira," he said, voice low. Almost raw.

"John." Her voice a whisper. "Oh, sorry! Oh John Anderson," she weakly retorted.

"Hilarious, Moira." He closed his eyes as she rolled next to him, cuddled against his side. His arm slid round her. Stroked her side. "Give me...ten, maybe eleven. Fuck that was hot."

"Ssh, John. Go to sleep." She took hold of his wrist, turned it to see his watch. The blue gleaming dial. "You have to leave in about six and a half hours, so you can sleep at least for five, right? Wouldn't want it getting round that the colonel is having sex with some lower echelon scientist, now would we?"

"Enough." He lightly slapped rear, making her jerk against his body. "It's as much for you as for me, Moira. So deal with it. I don't want anybody interfering in our business, all right? What's between us is only between us."

"What does it matter? You–"

"It does. Now sleep. Give me...an hour. Then we'll go again." He kissed her brow, arm tightening around her. "Full throttle this time."

"This time? What was that just now? Half?"

He smiled. "Yeah...I guess. Now hush." He opened his eyes, waiting. Waiting. Once she had succumbed to fatigue he disentangled himself, slipped off the bed. He grabbed his pants. Procured a bracelet from the pocket. He slipped back onto the bed. Gently he caught her wrist, fastened the bracelet around it. "There." He laid next to her. "Moira."

She snuggled against him, oblivious. Slid on top of him suddenly. "John...don't go," she muttered sleepily. Fingers tangling in his chest hair. "Don't go."

He kissed her brow, stroked her back. "Ssh, Moira. Not yet, sweetheart. Not yet," he assured. Fell asleep pondering her words, her concerns. His own.


	2. Chapter 2

Survival Instinct2

The noise woke Moira. A weird beeping sound that she couldn't quite place, couldn't quiet recognize until she realized what it was. The alarm on John's watch. Repeatedly beeping. Insistent. Moira frowned, shifting out of his embrace even as he was stirring, rolling onto his back. The room was plunged into darkness. Moira tapped the lamp near the bed to throw a circle of pallid light onto the pillows. Onto John's face as he woke blearily.

"No, John." Moira sat up, grabbed his wrist and silenced the watch. She stared angrily at its blue illumined dial. "You're not going anywhere, colonel."

"Moira," John sighed, eyes open now. He tugged his wrist from her fingers. The lamplight behind her threw a golden halo around her billowing hair.

"I'm serious, John! This is getting ridiculous!"

"What, you can't wait to brag about us? About having the military commander in your bed?" he tested, gaze narrowing in annoyance.

She scowled. "No! Besides, what if I did? It's not like I signed a non-disclosure agreement."

"Maybe I should have brought one," he grumbled.

"Hilarious, John! You don't need to be so..." Her words dissolved as she finally noticed the bracelet on her wrist. She stared, uncomprehending. Pure shining silver encircled her wrist. Intricate Celtic knot work comprised of spiral, hearts, and whorls. Emerald gleamed green in the white metal. She turned it round, admiring the detail, the handiwork. The sheer beauty of the piece. "John?"

He smirked, pleased at her surprise, her pleasure. When she met his gaze, brown eyes wide he yawned, pretending disinterest. "What? Are we done arguing now? I really should be going."

"John!" She showed him the bracelet. "It's beautiful! It's...oh John!" She leaned down to kiss him. He caught her hips, rear, pulling her on top of him. Maneuvering her as she showered affection on him. Kiss after kiss. She freed herself suddenly. "I...I can't accept this!"

"What?" he asked, surprised. "Look, Moira, I couldn't find an exact replica but it is the closest thing to it."

"No, silly! This is ten time better! That's why I have to give it back." She straddled him, fiddling with the clasp. He caught her hand, stopping her.

"What? I don't understand, Moira. If you don't like it–"

"John, it's wonderful! It's beautiful! It's...too much. You can't afford a piece like this! I know I can't afford a piece like this."

He smiled, understanding. "Don't you worry about it."

"You have to return it, John. Even on a colonel's salary this would be too extravagant! I could pay you back but it will take months on my salary, believe me!"

He laughed. "Oh, I believe you, Moira. I don't want your money. It's a gift. To replace the one I had to requisition. Enjoy. I only want your bed...and oh, yeah, you in it."

"I'm serious, John! You can't afford to waste money on this!"

"I can." He caught her, moved her off him, rolled on top of her. Kissed her, hands caressing, cajoling. Prepping her body to receive him.

She murmured, responding but touched his shoulder, stopping him. "John, I can't let you spend this much on one little bracelet. As lovely as it is you shouldn't have spent this much! I can't accept it. I have to oh John," her words whispered into a gasp as he suddenly entered her, began moving them in as escalating rhythm.

"Focus, Moira," he scolded, kissing her throat. More intent on the sex than the conversation.

She moved with him. "John...you have to return it. You'll get a refund. I don't feel right about accepting it. I can't."

"You can and you will." He sighed, pausing, meeting her gaze. "I'll tell you a secret, Moira, but it goes no farther than us. Agreed?"

"Okay, John. Promise."

He frowned, reluctant. But resumed his movements. Motions of possession, of pleasure. Said into her ear, "I can afford it."

"No, not on a colonel's–"

"Trust me. I can."

She considered his words as they moved in unison, bodies oblivious to the conversation now. Back and forth. The bed gently rocking under them. "You mean...you're–"

"Rich," he supplied the word. Ran his mouth down her throat. Scowled as she was more intent on the conversation than the sex.

"Rich? Wow...rich and gorgeous? Damn." She kissed him. "How rich?" she teased. Stopping her momentum, and consequently his. "Moderately rich, or extravagantly wealthy?"

"Shut up, Moira," he said warmly, moving again. Faster. Harder. Deeper as she obligingly widened her legs to accommodate him. "No one knows, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Understood, John. You can trust me."

"Good. Now give yourself to me, Moira. That's an order."

"Yes, colonel. And thank you," she agreed, kissing him. Giving him her full attention and affection.

"No, thank you, doctor," he retorted with a smile.

*************************************************************************

Moira spotted Katie Brown at a lone table in the cafeteria. Joined her. Began to eat her lunch. Big, gulping bites as hunger gnawed at her. Katie smiled, amused. Stared at the silver glinting jewel on Moira's wrist. "Wow. That's a lovely bracelet."

"It was a gift," Moira blurted before thinking. She swallowed, wincing inwardly. Could only imagine John's annoyance.

"A gift? From?" Katie prompted with a smile, an inquiring look. Moira was silent, resumed eating. "Moira! Are you seeing someone?" Katie laughed at her friend's silent obstinance. "Well, I'll take that as a yes. Who is it? That certainly explains a lot."

"What?" Moira stared. "What does that explain?"

"You. Being distracted. Staring into space with a dreamy smile on your face."

"Me? I don't do that." Moira smirked at Katie's laughter. "Well, not all of the time."

"True," Katie agreed. "At least you managed to surface for lunch. I haven't seen the usual crowd in here. Colonel Sheppard and his team, you know. Or even Lorne. Or Matthew."

"That's to be expected," Moira stated, on firmer ground. "They're suffering from the residual affects of the enzyme. It's working its way through their systems. Carson said it should clear up soon enough."

"Oh. So they're sleeping it off?"

Moira laughed. "Yes, in a manner of speaking." She pictured John the way she had left him. Sprawled naked in her bed, fast asleep. Eyed her food to conceal her emotions. "It was difficult to get a good night's sleep in the Jumper. They're not built for comfort."

"I'm just glad you all made it back safely! I felt awful leaving you behind like that. Rodney felt worse when we couldn't dial back to the planet. I don't know how you survived for nearly a week, Moira. I don't know if I could have done it," Katie confided, leaning over the table.

Moira shrugged. Drank some water. "You could have. We had a good cache of supplies on the Jumper. And Ronon. He was amazing! He knew how to live off the land. The other guys weren't bad either." They laughed. "I'll tell you, it wasn't all bad." She leaned closer, her voice falling to a conspiratorial whisper. "Every morning the boys would take their morning jog around the emerald pool." She paused. "Shirtless."

Katie stared, grinned at they both sat back. "Really? Wow." They laughed. Katie caught sight of John filling his tray with food, a serious expression on his handsome face. "Shirtless? Wow?"

Moira glanced behind her to see John. Grinned, met Katie's gaze. "Wow. Very wow." They laughed heartily.

John glanced over, attracted by the female laughter, the sudden hilarity. He strolled to their table. Smiled. "Ladies. May I join you?" He raised a brow at the merriment.

"Of course, colonel," Katie managed to say with a straight face. She made to move but John sat next to Moira. Scooting beside her in the booth. Scooting further, forcing her nearly all the way to the wall. His thigh pressed hers as he settled. Began to eat.

"Colonel! Can I have a little elbow room? You're practically shoving me up against the wall!"

Moira complained.

John met her gaze, smirked. "Oh? Sorry, doctor. I forgot we haven't had that particular twenty in our performance. Yet."

"What?" She stared, uncomprehending for a moment. Then realization. She scowled. He merely smiled, resumed eating.

"You seem to have quite an appetite, colonel. Is that a result of the enzyme? Moira said you were all suffering from residual affects."

"Suffering?" John pondered, keeping a straight face. "Yes, I suppose you could term it like that. Suffering. I am very hungry. Don't know why. I need to keep up my stamina."

"That's not the only thing," Moira said blandly. But John choked on his water, nearly spilling it, nearly spitting it. He coughed and laughed at the same time.

"Colonel? Are you all right?" Katie asked, bewildered.

Moira thumped his back. "Fine," he coughed. Cleared his throat, hand over his mouth. "Thank you, doctor. I swallowed too much, is all."

"Exactly what I'm afraid of," Moira quipped, completely deadpan. John snorted, coughed and choked again. She hit his back. "Easy, colonel! Try to sip your water, not gulp it all at once!"

"Colonel, do you need help? Should I summon Carson?" Katie asked, serious and concerned.

John shook his head, hand over his mouth as he coughed. Tried desperately not to laugh. He eyed Moira, gave her a reprimanding look, brilliant green eyes narrowing. She smirked, sipped some water, pretending not to notice. "I'm fine," he finally managed to say. Sat back a moment. Moira's fingers still on his back, rubbing gently now.

"Moira was just telling me how amazing Ronon was," Katie said, now that John seemed to be recovered. Had resumed eating with careful bites.

John glanced at Moira. "Ronon? Just Ronon?"

The women laughed. "You too, colonel," she soothed. "If Ronon hadn't have been with us we would have starved. Admit it, John."

"Yeah, yeah, he's survival guy, got it," he grumbled.

"What have you discovered so far?" Moira asked, fingers sliding teasingly down, down John's back to his rear before drawing away. She glanced at him, saw his admonishment. Then his pained expression at the question. Moira elbowed him, tried not to laugh.

"So much!" Katie enthused, oblivious to John's lack of interest. "The specimens we collected are quite remarkable. Several new species which we believe are not of Earth! Although they could be hybrids. You know how rare any true indigenous species are to this galaxy, which is quite unusual in itself. The fruits are mostly familiar to us, though."

"Strawberries," Moira commented, glanced at John. He briefly smiled.

"Yes, and others unique to that planet, so far. Many very beneficial and nutritious as Matthew has discovered. Some may even have medicinal properties. The lichen in particular has a molecular cohesion very similar to forms of beneficent antibodies found on Earth. Did you not apply any of those broad-leafed deciduous plants to your injuries, Colonel Sheppard? Colonel?"

"John!" Moira urged, nudging his arm.

He swallowed, shrugged. "No idea. I drifted off after the word botanical."

"Charming," Moira noted, shaking her head.

Katie smiled. "But typical. I've got to get to work. You'll be joining us?"

"Yes. As soon as I finish this," Moira assured. She ate the last bites of her sandwich. "Okay, John, scoot! I've got to–"

"May I join you?" Rodney McKay sat down across from them. "Before you ask I've gone over all of the 'Gate diagnostics and the Jumper's systems so no, there was nothing we could do from our end. The dialing sequences were correct and complete."

John smiled as Moira made a face. "I see. Please, do go on, Rodney." He exchanged a glance with Moira. Smirked.

"I have to get to work," Moira evaded, trying to push him but he didn't budge.

"Ah, no. You made me listen to all of that botany blah blah blah so now you have to suffer through all of this Ancient blah blah blah."

"Blah blah blah? Thanks, John. Actually, Moira, you'll find this interesting," Rodney said with a smile.

She sighed. "Okay. It will probably be more interesting than him going on and on and on about the cavemen's weaponry."

"Glad you mentioned that!" John teased. "I did notice their weaponry and the interesting thing is their guns weren't standard issue. Not 9mm or P90s or even the Browning or Hauser models but an older–"

"Blah blah blah," Rodney commented. Made a face. "Time to go, Moira." They laughed.

Moira sighed. "Please, Rodney, talk. Anything to shut him up."

John scowled. "Charming. So...the 'Gate was the problem?"

"Yes. As far as I can diagnose it was a 'Gate malfunction. Not the DHD or the Jumper's dialing device. Nor ours. It–"

"I already knew that," John complained.

"Good. The question is what could have disrup–"

"I have a theory on that too," John interrupted. "It doesn't involve guns," he assured, glancing at Moira. "The Ancient device we found. When I accidently," he paused, glancing at her as she was about to interject, "shut it off it disrupted the inaudible harmonics which were controlling the cavemen, to an extent. Calming them. Somehow that signal also allowed the Stargate to function. When I inadvertently shut it down it shut the 'Gate down as well. No more signal. In effect locking down the planet. Well?"

Rodney considered. "Hmm...possible. Two Ancient devices on the planet wouldn't be a coincidence. Maybe they knew what the destroyed signal would unleash so they tied it to the Stargate to prevent hordes descending on other planets."

"Like I said," John boasted. "See?"

Moira frowned. "See what? If you hadn't have blundered into it and turned it off none of this would have happened."

"I didn't blunder. It was an accident."

"From now on don't touch any Ancient device unless Rodney is there to fix it, all right?"

Rodney laughed. "I've tried telling him that, Moira, but he won't listen."

John sighed. "I'm getting tired of being blamed for everything that goes wrong."

"Not everything, John. Just the disaster you caused on M1K436," she corrected with a smile.

"Near disaster," he objected. "We got out okay, didn't we?"

"Thanks to me, flyboy. Don't you forget it."

"I'm not likely to forget that, jungle queen. Nor is anyone else."

"Am I missing something?" Rodney asked, looking from one to the other.

"No!" Moira refuted, pushed. "Move! I need to get to work!" He scooted down the bench, stood. She moved past him, met his merry gaze. "Not a word, John! Not one!"

"Yes, jungle queen," he smiled. Laughed at her glare. Sobered as she suddenly returned.

"John, we could still be experiencing residual affects of the enzyme. Withdrawal. You probably should keep an eye on Ronon and Evan. I can keep an eye on Matthew."

"Okay. How do you feel?"

"Fine. You?"

"Never better. Jungle queen," he added with a smirk.

"Stop it. I'm serious, John."

"Oh. So...with this withdrawal does that mean we will experience cravings?" He raised a brow, expression suggestive. Voice lowering just a little. Enough to convey his meaning.

Moira considered, oddly serious. "Possibly. I don't know. It also depends how the hormones are affected, which areas of the brain. How those endorphin levels affect each individual and are expressed in physical..." She paused, saw his amusement, saw he was trying not to laugh. She frowned. "I'm serious, John! Not, not just that! Not just...oh never mind!"

John laughed as she whirled, stomped out of the cafeteria. "What? You were saying, doctor? Please, please continue. I find this subject fascinating. Really, I do!"

"Shut up, John!" she called over her shoulder.

He laughed again. Sat down to meet a mystified Rodney's gaze. "Scientists," he shrugged. "Very poor sense of humor."

"I don't think it's a laughing matter, John. Those vestiges of the enzyme could manifest in all kinds of ways, resulting in prolonged physical reactions or..." Rodney paused as John was trying not to laugh again. "–or in your case resultant hysteria?" He shook his head. "I'll try to talk to you when you've come down from whatever you're on!"

"The enzyme. Remember?" John quipped, forcing down his hilarity. He sobered. "I should go work on those reports before Caldwell gets in my face about it."

"What was that about jungle queen?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," John smoothly evaded.

***************************************************************************

Ronon sat hunched over on the infirmary bed. Winced as another cramp hit his gut. He leaned over, waiting, eying the bucket at his feet. The nauseous feeling passed. He grimaced, looked at Teyla Emmagan who was staring at him. "That one wasn't as bad."

"That is good. I think. How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Since this morning. Doc says it's the enzyme leaving my body. I felt so much better yesterday,

he complained.

Teyla arched a delicate brow. "When you dismantled half of Colonel Sheppard's marines? Yes, I am certain that felt much better than this."

"That was an accident," Ronon grumbled. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"I know. But you do see the dangers the enzyme poses. Even in a diluted form. Perhaps because your reaction was an escalation in violence so too your withdrawal symptoms are equally violent."

Ronon stared. "Since when did you become a doctor?"

She laughed. "I am only stating what Carson told me. I believe he is right. What concerns me is how will the others be affected."

Ronon considered. "Hard to say. Hopefully not like..." He broke off, leaning over to hurl into the bucket. Teyla grimaced, stepped away quickly.

**************************************************************************

Evan entered the botany lab, eyed the groups of scientists. All clad in white lab coats as they talked quietly, throwing Latin names into the air, hovering over their microscopes. All sorts of plants and specimens littered the tables. A profusion of greenery. Seeing Moira he neared, touched her shoulder. "Hey. I thought you were a biologist?"

Moira met his gaze, smiled. "Paleozoologist, actually. I'm just helping out here."

"Oh." Evan glanced past her as Matthew exclaimed, hands waving in the air. "Looks like he found something interesting. Isn't that the moss?"

Moira looked over, nodded. "Yes. We're just testing it. It gets locked up every day. Did you need something, Evan? How do you feel?" she asked, studying him. He seemed alert, happy, energized. Blue eyes sparkling.

"Fine. I want to show you something. It won't take long." Already he was pulling her arm, pulling her off the stool.

"Okay." She followed him. "What is it, Evan? Are you sure you feel okay? You're not experiencing any symptoms of withdrawal?"

"No...I don't think so. In fact I've been inspired. Really inspired." He led her into his room.

Moira looked round. The room was clean. Immaculate. But that was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. The only thing unusual was the large covered canvas standing near the window. "You have a new work in progress?"

"Complete. I wanted you to see it first." He drew back the cover. Smiled as her eyes widened in surprise, in admiration. "I did it last night. All of it. Once I got started I couldn't stop. It was like no other piece I've done. I mean I did no preliminary drawings, nothing. Just that."

Moira stared, stepped closer to the large canvas. It was covered in colors. A complete painting of the entire city. Spires stark against the bluish violet sky. The churning waves of the blue ocean surrounding it. Little figures were dotted among the balconies, and to her amazement she could recognize their likenesses as small as they were. Elizabeth with her kindly smile. Radek Zalenka with his annoyed expression, next to Rodney with his superior, smug one. John leaning against another railing, smile on his handsome face, so handsome even in miniature. Talking to a woman whom Moira recognized as herself. Evan in another section. Ronon and Teyla sparring with sticks, smiles on their faces. Scientists laughing. Soldiers marching. A ZPM lit a bright orange. The Stargate with blue chevrons blazing.

"Well? Have I rendered you speechless?"

Moira stepped back, looked at him. "It's...it's amazing! Evan, you...you did this all in one night? That's not possible! The details! The colors...it's exquisite!"

"Thank you. And yes, I did it all last night. Don't ask me how. My muse took over and that was that. I was in a daze, Moira. I woke up only when it was done. But it is good, isn't it?"

"Good? It's incredible! Evan, you...you've never done anything like this before! On this scale, I mean! Have you shown it to anyone else?"

"Are you kidding? Of course not! Only you, Moira. Not many people know I do this."

She looked back at the painting. "You should show this to Weir. She would appreciate the skill and the artistry. Thank you for showing it to me. Evan...you're sure you feel okay?"

He laughed as she eyed him. "Yes! I've never felt better. Tired since I didn't sleep a wink last night. But otherwise, fine. Maybe I will show it to Weir. You really think she–"

"Major Lorne to the conference room!" a voice announced.

"Oh. I forgot about that. Mission report." He flung the cover back over the canvas, hiding the picture from view once more.

"I should get to work too. On the Wraith, not on plants." She followed him out of his room, touched his arm. "Evan...thank you! It's lovely! Perfect."

"Thank you, Moira. I don't know if I'll ever produce a piece like that again...but I'm glad I did that one. Gotta go. See you later."

She smiled, watched him sprint down the hallway. Marveled over his skill. The painting. Wondered if the enzyme had somehow enhanced his skills. Shrugging she went to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Survival Instinct3

Evan sprinted up the stairs, into the conference room. Paused seeing the full complement of Atlantis's leaders. John scowling at his data pad. Elizabeth Weir's serious expression. Steven Caldwell going over a report. Rodney examining the latest scans. "Sirs, Doctor Weir. Sorry." He took an empty seat.

"How are you feeling, Major Lorne?" Steven asked, eying the younger man.

Evan shrugged. "Fine, sir. A little on edge, like I have lots of energy to burn off still."

"Good. You'll be getting the chance. We're going back to M1K436. In the Daedalus this time."

"Sir?" Evan looked at John, who nodded. At Elizabeth.

"We need to find out why the Stargate malfunctioned. To prevent it happening again. I don't want another team stranded like you were," she explained. "And if John's theory about that Ancient device being directly linked to the operation of the 'Gate we need to learn more."

"To prevent it from happening again," John added. Clearly not liking the idea.

Steven saw the expression. "You have an objection, lieutenant colonel?"

All eyes swung to John as he schooled his expression into neutral. His thoughts had been wandering. To Moira. To her jungle dance. To her hands caressing Niko. Her seductions to distract him, distract the cavemen so John and the rest could make their escape. None of which he could say, so instead he replied, "No objections, sir. I highly doubt the same scenario would repeat itself on another planet, seeing as it has never happened previous to this one."

"Still, John, I want to be sure that no one is stranded again," Elizabeth reasoned, wondering at his reluctance. Knowing if he had a valid objection he would not hesitate to provide it. Forewarned is forearmed, right?"

"Absolutely, Doctor Weir," Steven answered.

"What I can't figure out is the conduit between the two devices," Rodney admitted. Seeing Steven's assessing gaze quickly added, "But I will. Once I see the device and check out all of its internal systems I should be able to turn it back on and have it fully functional."

"Then it's agreed. We leave in thirty. Lieutenant Colonel, prep a team to go with us. Just in case you run into any of those cavemen again."

"Yes, sir. And Ronon. If he's recovered from being sick."

**************************************************************************

John finally located Moira. She was in the Wraith lab, a more secluded location directly below the biology lab. She was sorting a variety of claws on a lit table, one by one. Making notations on a data screen. He smirked at the long white lab coat she wore. Her ponytail fell across the white material. "Hey," he greeted. Took the chair next to her. Lounged lazily back in it. "What's with the heavy coat, doctor?"

"Working," she replied, making notations. "There's a greater differential in claw lengths than I expected. Not between juvenile and adult but between adults of the same species. A greater variable that has nothing to do with age or sex or–"

"Everything has to do with sex," John quipped. Disappointed at her lack of response. "I'm having trouble with my report. I don't know how to word certain situations. Events. For instance, how you gave an entire planet fo men a simultaneous hard-on."

She sighed. "Hilarious, John. Why do you think I'm wearing the coat," she jested.

He laughed. "Won't work. At least not on me. I know exactly what's under there."

She smiled. "That's fine. As long as you're the only one."

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked. "Your jungle dance? I'm still the only one who has unlimited, unrestricted access. Right?" At her silence he repeated, "Right? I am, right?"

She laughed. "Yes, John."

"Well, then. That's settled. Isn't it?"

She finally looked at him. His arms were folded across his chest. Hair in its perpetual disordered state, shading his forehead as he lounged in the chair. Long legs stretched in front of him. "Do you want something, John?" Her gaze wandered, lingered. The belt at his waist. The double thigh straps from the holster.

He smiled. "I want to ask you about the cavemen," he finally stated.

She frowned. "Here we go."

He laughed. "No, seriously. Take off the coat and have a seat." He straightened his posture in the chair. Patted his thighs, inviting.

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"No more jokes about their, um, reactions. Or their um...physical–"

"Sufferings? No. Not even a word about your boyfriend Niko. Take off the coat and sit."

"Niko was cute in that powerful leader, broad-shouldered sort of way," she teased.

"Hilarious, Moira. Coat off. Sit." He patted his thighs again. Waited.

She sighed, but stood. Removed the lab coat. She slipped onto his lap sideways, legs primly closed, knees side by side. "Well?"

His arm slid round her waist. "Not what I was hoping would happen but it will have to do, I guess. The cavemen. Theories," he prompted, stroking her back.

She eyed him, caught his other hand as it snaked along her thighs. "Theories. Primitive. _Homo erectus _or _Homo antecessor._ Not us. Primitive language skills and no higher brain functioning. I don't think they were on the moss, I mean I don't think they were eating it. But probably were drinking the secretions in the water. Unavoidable. A lot more exposure than you boys had." Her fingers caressed his hand in hers as his other hand still caressed her lower back. "More developed senses. Sight. Smell." She glanced at him, saw his quick grin. "Hearing. Better than ours, registering higher and lower frequencies, more like animal auditory senses than our own. Seeing how the harmonic frequencies of the Ancient device kept their agitated hormonal and adrenal systems in control."

"Would the enzyme account for the deformation? Mutations?" he asked.

She looked at him. "You were listening? Wow. A gold star for you, colonel."

"I'd settle for a shift to the right and a kiss," he replied. "A long, take me kind of kiss."

She did both. Shifting her hips on his lap, bouncing her rear a little. She caught his mouth with hers for a long, tantalizing kiss. A hint of passionate invitation. "Probably," she answered his question, straightening. Ignored his quiet sound of approval. "Prolonged exposure to the enzyme could result in those kinds of deformities. But they weren't as deformed as the cave creatures. I wonder, I wonder if they two are related," she mused, slightly swinging her feet. Subtly rocking a little.

"Hmm...okay. What about our friend Baldy?"

She shrugged. "Normal. Us, I mean. He knew about controlling them. But he couldn't control them completely. He couldn't go against them."

"That's what puzzles me," he admitted, shifting under her. "What was his agenda? Was he trying to create some sort of mutant army? What was his objective? He kidnaped our people to help clear the city of that moss. And where did he get those weapons? They were old, Moria. I mean old, early twentieth-century Earth hardware. Nothing we use now. Not for years, not for decades. That puzzles the hell out of me."

"The only source would be Earth, right?" she speculated. "More specifically early twentieth-century Earth?"

"Ah, good. You didn't fall asleep. What do you want? Besides a gold star?"

She smiled. "Just a kiss. But one of your seductive ones, John."

He drew her closer, slowly moved his mouth over hers. Slowly opened his lips to his. Questing. Questing as his tongue slid to tease, to tickle. Until his mouth traveled to her earlobe. Down her throat. She turned to him, murmuring softly, shifting against him. Her hand slid up his chest as his fingers slid her shirt towards her shoulder. Baring it as his mouth slid along her collarbone.

He drew back. She straightened, shifted. Smiled. Breathed deeply. "Wow." She recalled the conversation with an effort. "You think there's a 1920s or a 1930s planet out there? How very Star Trek of you." He laughed. "You'd look damn fine in those clothes," she mused dreamily, imagining him clad in a suit.

"As would you, even better out of them," he retorted. "But I was thinking more of a remnant society that had progressed to the cultural and technological level of the 1920s or the 1930s. Explains the weapons. Maybe even Baldy. But not the cavemen."

"Oh. That makes more sense," she realized. Laughed. "So you're wondering where the cavemen came from in the first place."

"Bingo. They weren't on that planet before."

"You think they traveled through the 'Gate?"

"Bingo again. With Baldy in the lead."

"So he knew about the Ancient device to control them?"

"Bingo times three. You are racking up points, Moira. At this rate you'll be beyond kissing and straight into full-on sexual–"

"Hush! Let me think," she scolded.

"Let me help." He turned her face to his. Kissed her. "Turn."

"I can't–"

"Get up and straddle me, baby."

She eyed him. Did so, sat facing him. Legs spread on either side of him. Her hands ran up his chest as she kissed him. Ran her mouth along his jaw, his throat. Shifting in a circle on his lap, clearly feeling his reactions. Hers. She kissed him again.

He kept in her place as she moved, enjoying the feel of her body on his. Enjoying her kisses, her attention. His hands running up and down her back. "Well?"

"Huh?"

He laughed. "Still thinking?"

"Um...about what?" He laughed again. She smiled. "About whether or not this is one of your kinky fantasies? Yes. About whether or not you want to have sex here and now? Yes. About whether or not I should slide my hand into your pants to bring you? Yes."

"Do it, baby," he urged. "I meant about the cavemen," he clarified. "Focus, Moira. Keep it in your pants until I order otherwise," he teased.

She laughed. "Yes, colonel. The cavemen."

"Who would all die to be in my place right now. Yes, even your buddy Niko. Well?"

"Well what? Oh!" She considered. Eying him. "John, have you ever done it like this? Specifically like this, I mean?" she asked seriously.

He laughed. "Answer me first. Cavemen?"

"Spoilsport," she pouted. Hands sliding up to caress his shoulders. She bounced a little on him. "I mean, in this particular position, or another? Clothed or–"

He grinned, swatted her rear as she shifted. "Moira! Cavemen."

"You're no fun, John! All work," she teased, sighed. "Cavemen. Hmm...no."

"No? What does that mean?" he asked, puzzled.

"I don't think they would have either the ingenuity or the kinkiness to attempt copulation in this particular position," she said in complete sincerity. Laughed at his expression, then his scowl. But he laughed as well. "That wasn't your question, sweetie?"

"No, baby. And yes."

"Yes?" She frowned. "Shoot. I should have known you had. With your lots, er some women. How many, John?"

"Not exactly like this, Moira," he clarified.

"Who? Someone here or–"

"No. No one here. Long ago. In fact I may be rusty but I'm a quick study. My preference? Like this. Right here. Unclothed. All right?"

She stared at him. "So he took them from another planet," she resumed the previous topic. "Their home planet, one we haven't discovered yet. To be slaves, or as an army. Knowing he could control them on that particular planet because of the ruined city. Maybe even train them although I doubt they could perform anything more complicated than basic commands."

"What?" John was enjoying the feel of her body on his. Her rear shifting on his, body rocking in a pleasurable sensation that ran up and down, up and down his arousal. Her fingers caressing his shoulders. Her serious expression. Imagining having sex with her in this position.

"Focus, John," she scolded, tapping her fingers on his shoulder. She stopped moving. "Train them to fight? But whom? The Wraith? Another enemy? His own people? Us?" She paused, shifting on him. "Damn...I should have brought a spare," she grumbled as her own arousal made itself known.

He grinned, kissed her. "Yeah, I noticed, sweetheart. You feel so good, so lush and–"

"It's your own damn fault!" She made to move but he pulled her back onto him. Moaned as she slammed onto his growing hardness. "John?"

"Now. Here. Even clothed, if you prefer. Just thrust that pert little ass onto my–"

"Wait." She caught his hands at her hips, drew them off her. "You think this links to Ford, don't you? Somehow the enzyme, the planets...his army. You think it all connects?"

"Yes, but I can't quite connect the dots. That's why I asked you. What do you think?" He freed his hands to unzip her pants. "Half naked, then? This has to go."

"That's interesting."

"Very," he agreed, his fingers slipping into her pants. "You need to go commando, Moira. Oh that is delicious," he said low, fingers sliding along the panties now, feeling her dampness, the softness, the heat enclosed by the fabric.

"John!" She shoved his hand out, zipped her pants. "I meant your theory!"

"By theory I hope you mean my cock, baby, because it's raring to enter your own–"

"John!" She laughed as he guided her hand to his growing arousal. "Now? Really? Here?"

"You're the scientist. Aren't you curious if its physically possible? I mean, it is, but will it be as exceptional as other positions? Aren't you curious, Moira? Exactly how I'll take you like this? How hard? How intensely? If it will be as good as your bed?"

She laughed at his sincerity. "I'll need evidence, John. Measurable evidence. Hard evidence."

He laughed. "You'll be able to measure it all right. And as for hardness...you can feel that yourself, can't you?"

She shifted, scooted back to caress boldly. Erection clearly outlined against the gray pants now. "Oh yes, colonel...I can. What about your theory?"

"Your hands are full of my theory, aren't they?" he teased.

"I meant your other theory, flyboy."

"Screw this one, then we'll discuss the other one," he countered.

She considered, still caressing. Feeling him grow harder, bigger under the clothes. Feeling her own reactions. "Hmm...what about the–"

"Door? Locked. Hell, no one comes down here, do they? Except you."

She smiled. "I'd better be the only one coming down here," she teased. Hand tightening to elicit a groan from him. "Oh John. Oh John Anderson," she sighed.

"Hilarious, Moira." He kissed her, unzipping her pants, yanking the button free. Undoing his. Sliding his hand to roughly caress her panties. Forcing his way under her until she squirmed, whimpered, tensed. "Now, Moira. Please." He tugged at her pants.

Moira stood, slipped her pants off one leg, awkwardly tugging it past her shoe. Watched as he undid his boxer shorts, shifting on the chair. "John..." she said softly. Slipped the panties off one leg. Slid back onto his lap, straddling him. He moaned. Laughed. "What?"

"I can't get in like that, honey. Here. I'll guide your delicious center to me."

"I have to ask you–"

"Five minutes, baby," he interrupted, lifting her, guiding her with an exaggerated groan. "Ah, baby, baby, that's it! Up and down, now, so tight and wet! Up and down, up and down," he maneuvered her. Groaning as he thrust deeper each time.

Moira grabbed his arms, feeling his strength, the tension. Then the chair's arms as she took over from him. Copying the way he wanted her to move. She gasped, gasped, moaned as the friction built, built. Feet flat on the ground as she lifted, took him in. Lifted, took him in again. The position unusual for her, exciting. Erotic. "John...I thought. You wanted. To talk." She took a breath between the words as her body tensed around him. Easing him further, reluctant to release him. The momentum building, building.

His hands squeezed her rear each time she rose. "You want to talk now?" he asked in a rush, awkwardly as the pleasure was thrumming. "Ah...here we go. You're so tight...so fucking wet," he nearly growled. "Faster now."

Moira murmured, coloring but enjoying the vivid sensations. She began to move faster, faster, angling back a little so he could plunge, plunge deeper. Harder. "Oh John, oh John!" she kept repeating between moans and whimpers. Soft cries as the pleasure circled, circled.

"Faster, Moira. Faster, here!" He helped guide her, nearly thrusting her out of the chair. He groaned as he came, hard, sudden. Tension releasing a torrent. Swear words flew from his lips.

Moira's cries of his name and pleasure became a crescendo as she followed him. Clutching the chair's arms as she came wildly, flinging herself up to free herself. Then down to fall across his chest, catching her breath, breasts heaving against him. She climbed up to kiss his mouth. Still murmuring as his fingers raced up under her shirt to caress a breast. To free them from the confines of her bra.

"Beautiful," he commented. "Not so rusty after all, hmm? It's not quite enough."

"What?" She lifted her head from his chest. "Are you–"

"Sorry. Back to fantasy number one."

"What? John, John," she stammered but he kissed her. Guided the chair, kicking them back towards a table. The chair rolled sluggishly under their weight.

"Up," he instructed. She slid off him. He stood, caught her, moved her against the table. Lifted her up onto it.

"Like this? Again?" she questioned, squirming on the cold surface.

"We were interrupted last time. I didn't get enough leverage in the chair." He kissed her, moving her thighs apart, stepping closer. "I know you can take me full throttle now, baby."

"You can't possibly have enough stamina!" she exclaimed, making him smile.

He caught her wrists, moved her onto her back. Held her wrists pinned gently to the table. "Is this all right?" he asked mildly. "It's a hard surface but you won't be there too long."

"John...I..." she stammered, aroused, amazed. Embarrassed.

"Yes or no, Moira? I don't want your pert little ass exposed any longer than it needs to be. Here, anyway. What if I forgot to lock the door? Didn't you want Parrish to watch us?" he teased, kissing her. A deep, probing kiss. "Would you rather be on top? I need an answer now, Moira."

He kissed her again, abruptly thrust into her. "Too late. I'll just take you here while you consider all of the scientific analysis."

"John! Damn, you...maybe we need safe word," she wondered as he began thrusting. Slow, determined movements of his body in hers.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, kissing her again. "I wish you would lose the shirt," he complained.

"Only if you do, John," she retorted, moaning. Arching up to him. She yanked her wrists free to grab his arms as he quickened his pace. Faster, faster, harder. Moira rocking on the table, sliding, slipping with each motion, each rush to climax. She came in a flooding whirl of pleasure, over and over. He followed her swiftly, groaning into her hair, against her skin. Kept moving and moving until he was finally satisfied.

"Ah. That's more like it, baby." He kissed her. Freed her. Pulled her to her feet to kiss her again. "Gotta go."

Moira stared, fumbling back into her clothes as he fixed his. Pulled down his shirt. "John? Are you serious? John!" she called as he pushed the chair back into place. "What the fuck was that?"

He met her perplexed gaze, smiled broadly. "Exactly. What? Sexual intercourse, Moira. Are you sure you're a biologist?"

"John! What the hell was that?" she demanded, hands on hips. A flush of fury animating her frame. "You just swagger in here and have kinky sex with me? Then swagger out?" She grabbed a book as he sauntered towards the door, seemingly oblivious. She threw the book. It hit his back, fluttered to the floor. "Is that it?"

He laughed, turned to her. Glanced down at the book. Kicked it across the room. Met her angry gaze. "Yeah."

She stared. Strode over to him and slapped him. "You arrogant son of a–"

He kissed her, pulling her into his arms. Tongue thrusting into her mouth as his hands slid down to cup, to grasp her rear. To squeeze until she squirmed, murmured a protest. "You're so sexy when you are angry, Moira. Your anger makes me want to take you again. Take you roughly against the wall."

"You...you...let go of me! Is this the enzyme withdrawal or is this you? The real John Sheppard and his lots some women?" she flared, pushing.

He smiled. "This is me, baby. Like you didn't know, Moira. Please. I wish I could stay but I have to go off-world now. To go visit your buddy Niko. And there's no way in hell you're going back there."

"What? Back to M1K436? Why? John, you–"

"I need you to work out those connections for me. What we discussed earlier? And keep that pert little ass warm for me, baby. Because I do want it. Roughly. In ways you cannot even imagine. Yet."

"Let go! What the hell is wrong with you? You, you–"

He kissed her again, savoring the taste of her mouth. Of her anger. His fingers caught in her hair, pulling strands of it free of the ponytail. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, baby, because I know you did. Every second of it."

"Stop calling me baby!" she snapped, pushed him but he freed her suddenly. Smiled. "John?"

"I'll call you whatever the hell I want, baby. Did you forget? You're mine. Head to toe."

She glared. "I don't think so, John, not when you are like this! Go! Get the hell out of Atlantis! This must be the enzyme, it must be!"

"Whatever, Moira. Keep the bed warm for me." He unlocked the door. Opened it. Stepped out. Turned back to her. "And wet. The same goes for your sweet, sweet center." He grinned, left before she could reply.

Moira stared after him. Appalled. Shocked. Concerned. Worried. Pleasured.


	4. Chapter 4

Survival Instinct4

John tapped his radio. Glanced round the verdant jungle surrounding him. "Daedalus, copy? Are you receiving?"

"Copy, lieutenant colonel," Steven's voice crackled over the static. "We will maintain orbit."

"Copy that. Sir." He glanced at the marines, gestured for them to flank the ruins of the city. The moss was wildly overgrown. Nearly overtaking the tumbled stones, the fallen bricks. It ran riot over the grass. Climbing the broken structures. Tiny blue flowers bloomed. The air felt hot, fetid. A strangely dead atmosphere despite the vitality of the plant life. "McKay, this way. Ronon, six. Lorne, take flank."

"You think our friends are still here, sir?" Evan asked, as they began to move through the maze of masonry and moss.

"Somewhere," John noted.

"Since Moira's not here we have no way to placate them," Ronon noted.

John glanced at him. Frowned. "Exactly. Let's go. And don't drink or eat anything! McKay?"

"I heard you the first time, John," Rodney grumbled. Slinging his equipment over his shoulder as he trudged after his team leader. To his consternation the moss was clinging to his boots. Nearly drowning them with each step. The ground felt spongy, springy.

"Especially since Moira's not here, right, Sheppard?" Ronon persisted. Laughed lewdly.

John frowned. Hands tightening on his P90. "Move out. Now." His thoughts flitted to Moira. The sex in the lab. In the chair. On the table. The feel of her body. Squirming. Welcoming. Snug and wet. He shook his head to clear the images. Scratched his arm where a bandage wrapped the gunshot wound.

**************************************************************************

Moira noticed the discrepancy two days after John had left the city. She sorted through the samples again. Turned to Katie who was working next to her. "Look at this. There's a sample of moss missing. I've counted it twice."

"What?" Katie met her gaze. Eyed the bags of moss they had collected from the planet. Each one labeled, dated. She counted through the samples. "You're right. Not a lot, but still..."

"Enough."

"Maybe Matthew took some to Carson. They're testing the medicinal properties. Trying to separate the molecular cohesion to make it a viable source of healing. I know they have not had much success."

"Maybe..." Moira mused, suspicious. She moved to the glass cabinet. Unlocked it. Began to search through all of the various specimens.

"Is everything in order?"

"So far."

"See? It's probably nothing. We'll take a new count just to be sure. And see if it changes again."

************************************************************************

"Ingenious!" Rodney exclaimed. He circled the Ancient device, now that it was moderately cleared of the moss. "The crystal modifications are extraordinary. And the ZPM is smaller. A more compact version of our own. But unfortunately it has less power too. It would be useless in the city. The equivalent of using a battery when we need a whole generator."

"So I didn't break it," John posited, watching the scientist examine the device.

"No, you did. Show me what you did. Exactly."

John inwardly sighed. He considered. Touched the side of the structure. Tilted forward to brush against it, to grab a crystal as he had the first time. "I was sort of falling since we were on the run from those cavemen."

"Whoa!" Rodney shoved him away as the crystals chimed, flared to a brightness that made him squint. It faded.

"It didn't do that the first time," John protested.

Rodney approached the machine again. "Don't touch it again! Moira was right. Don't touch any Ancient device ever!"

"Okay, okay, geez!" John complained, stepping back from the machine. He scanned the area. Remembered Moira blaming him for disrupting the signal, as if he had done it on purpose. Moira coming on his lap, moving up and down, taking him deeper, deeper. He shook his head again. Scratched his arm.

"Sheppard? You okay?" Ronon asked, noticing the other man's seeming distraction.

"Fine, fine!" John snapped. "Keep watch! Rodney! Today!"

"Give me a minute! And stay over there!" The physicist pointed dramatically to a place several yards from the machine. Waited until John had stomped over to it, a scowl on his face.

***********************************************************************

"There's more missing, here." Moira shut the drawer, closed the cabinet. She locked it. Programmed the keypad. "There. No one gets in but me. I changed the password."

"How much is missing?" asked Katie, staring at the glass cabinet. The contents within it. Vials and specimen jars.

Moira shrugged. "I'm not sure. At least two bags. I'll check with Carson. Maybe he has it all. He did want to run some tests on it."

"I'm sure that's it," Katie reasoned.

Moira wondered. She strolled to the medical bay. Trying to keep her thoughts from straying to John as they frequently did. His odd behavior in the lab. So sexual, so indifferent. Caring one moment and then cold the next. Wondered if he was affected by the enzyme. Or if she had glimpsed the ladies' man he was purported to be. Wondered if this meant he was going to dump her after all. Just another in the long line of women.

"Moira, love, did you need something?" Carson Beckett inquired.

Moira blinked. Hadn't been aware she had arrived, was standing in the middle of the infirmary staring at nothing. "Oh. Carson. Have you been testing the moss?"

"No, not recently. I still have the samples you brought back. It's analgesic properties are promising, but the enzyme is too prevalent for any substantive application. What is it?"

"We're missing some. Not a lot, but enough to notice. And if you don't have it..."

"Someone else does. I know that Matthew took some to the physics lab. Some sort of electromagnetic test. A feedback theory. I'm sure that's all it is."

"I'll go check with him," she said. "I'm sure he just forgot to log it."

**********************************************************************

John was pacing. He glanced at Rodney who was busily working. On his knees, head nearly in the device. Muttering equations. "Major? Any sign of our buddies?" he asked, tapping his radio.

"No, sir," Evan replied. Moving among the moss as he checked the perimeter of the city. "It's very quiet. Too quiet."

"I hear you," Ronon agreed. "Sheppard, what is wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" He paused. Unaware he was scratching again at his arm. "This bandage...it's too tight! That's all." He looked round. "I'm thirsty."

"I'm not." Ronon eyed their surroundings. "Look at this. The moss has covered everything we cleared. In a matter of a week. Is that normal?"

"Hell if I know. I'm no botanist." He smiled for a moment. "Moira wondered if it grew this quickly, and why." Moira's mouth entwined with his. Welcoming. Moaning. Her mouth going down on him. Her hand squeezing his cock. He swore, forced his mind to other things. "Fuck it!" he grumbled. He set down his P90. Tore off his jacket. Yanked up his sleeve to claw at the bandage. He ripped if off his arm. Stared. The injury was healed. Completely healed. Not even a scar marred his skin.

Ronon stared. "Should a bullet wound heal that fast? That cleanly?"

"No. Shit. This can't be good, can it?" John remarked.

"How do you feel?"

John rubbed his arm. "It doesn't itch anymore. So that's a plus."

"Sir! Company on the ridge! Six o'clock!" Evan warned.

Ronon whirled as John did. Both men raising their guns simultaneously. He snatched his jacket off the ground. "How many, major?"

"Ten...now twenty..." Evan was busily counting as he crouched behind a sliced tower. "They're holding position."

"McKay! Now would be a good time to fix that thing!" John shouted, running to the scientist.

"Why? We don't need 'Gate access and–"

"We've got company! If you turn this on it will calm them down and give us time," John explained, staring at Rodney who was on his hands and knees in the moss. Surrounded by crystals and wires as he had pulled out the panel.

"Oh." Rodney glanced at the ridge. "Cavemen? Really? I just assumed you were exaggerating."

"No, I wasn't. Now fix it." He tapped the radio. "Lorne, form up right flank with the others. We'll hold them until we have to go. Daedalus, this is Sheppard. Copy? Daedalus, this is Sheppard. Copy? Great," he grumbled. "Keep on it, Rodney." He sprinted to Ronon and the two men ran to Lorne as he formed a line of defense with the marines.

*************************************************************************

Moira found nothing in the physics lab. No one as the equipment was dormant. The room empty. The counters clean of any moss or vegetation. She returned to the botany lab. Found Matthew hitting the control box on the specimen cabinet. "Matthew?"

He whirled. Moira took a step backwards. The normally gently, calm scientist had a wild look in his blue eyes. A tension lining his thin face. "Is this lock broken? I tried to access the panel three times."

She neared slowly. "It's locked. I changed the password. Only I can access it now."

"You?"

"Yes. There are some moss specimens missing. Did you know that?" she tested.

"Yes. Of course I did. I took them."

Moira stared. His matter-of-fact tone should have been reassuring, but it was not. "You?"

"Yes, Moira. I am the lead botanist on this expedition, aren't I? This moss holds great potential. For example, did you know that it's micro chemical content is nearly analogous to some endorphin-inducing hallucinogens? "

"No. I–"

"Open the cabinet. Please. I need more."

"I don't think so, Matthew. You should probably confer with Carson before you engage in any more experimentation. The enzyme's affects can be quite disturbing."

"Open the cabinet," he repeated. "Moira, now," he ordered, taking a step towards her. His gaze raked over her.

"No. You need to see Carson first. What have you done exactly, Matthew?"

She nearly jumped as he slammed his hand down on the counter. Making a microscope jerk. "Open the damn cabinet, Moira! Now!"

**********************************************************************

The three men stood firm, in defensible positions as the marines fanned out slightly to form an inward-facing semi-circle. The ridge filled. More cavemen lining the trees. Some hunkering down. Some standing. Holding sticks. Rifles. Rocks.

"How many?" Evan asked.

"Too many. There's another contingent over there," John pointed. "About...thirty, near the tree line. And there...about ten or so lurking in the shadows."

"You can see them?" Evan asked, glanced at Ronon. The Satedan shrugged, also unable to see the forms John was indicating.

"Yeah. Can't you?" asked John, nonplused.

"No," Ronon answered. "They're too far out of range. What else?"

"That's it," John stated, shading his eyes as he scanned the surroundings. A sea of green surrounding them. Threatening in its massive growth. "Looks like they have basic guns...no P90s. Those early twentieth century weapons." He glanced at them. "You really can't see that?"

"Not from here, sir. Not without binoculars. How can you?" Evan asked.

John shrugged, but knew the answer. "Lots of carrots, major," he quipped. "Ah...there's that bastard."

"Who?" Ronon asked, staring round. As perplexed as Evan.

"Niko..." John's gaze narrowed as his grip on the P90 tightened. A sudden bitterness filled him.

"John! I need you here!" called Rodney.

"Hold the line. Do not fire unless engaged," John ordered. He sprinted back to Rodney, finding his way easily around the moss and the broken masonry when before he had struggled to find footholds like the rest. "Daedalus, copy! Daedalus!" he attempted.

"You were right," Rodney announced. Stood. Brushed the clingy moss off his pants. "There's a subset of crystals which have their own power source. A very similar configuration to the ones in the DHD. This connection," he pointed, "which in turn creates the harmonic wave. Which in turn shuts down the Stargate dialing rotations if de-activated."

"So I can turn it back on," John surmised.

"Yes. Now. It's tied not only to the ATA gene but also the enzyme's trace elements to–"

"Colonel! Bogeys on the move!" Evan's voice crackled over the radio. "Slow but steady."

"So I can turn it on, to subdue the cavemen?" John asked.

"Yes."

"And that would also activate the Stargate?"

"Yes."

"Then no." John tapped his earpiece. "Daedalus! Do you copy?"

"What?" Rodney exclaimed. He grabbed John's arm. "You have to activate it! We can't be caught by those ravening hordes! Without the 'Gate working we are sitting ducks!"

"I won't risk them getting through the 'Gate, Rodney! They need to stay here."

"But the Daedalus isn't receiving!"

"Keep trying to hail Daedalus! We'll hold the line. Activate that thing only on my order!"

"I can't! Haven't you been listening? You need to activate it!"

"No, Rodney! Hail Daedalus!" He spun, sprinted back to see the cavemen advancing. Waving sticks and guns. Grunting. A weird, growing fury in their wild eyes.

"Sir! Orders?" Evan asked.

"Hold the line, major!"

"Can't you turn on the machine?" Ronon asked.

"Yes. But I don't want them using the 'Gate, do you? Terrorizing other communities? The Daedalus will pick us up, we just need to hold the line." He tossed Ronon his P90. Stepped ahead of the marines.

"Sheppard?" Ronon asked, deftly catching the gun in one hand while holding his in the other.

"Colonel? What the–" Evan asked, as puzzled as Ronon.

"Hold the line! That's an order!" John sauntered ahead of his men. Past the razed structures of the city. Past the mounds of moss springing under his boots. Towards the advancing, ragged line of cavemen. "Niko!" he called. "Niko!"

"What the hell is he doing?" Evan asked, sighting his P90 on the now stopped line of enemies.

"I haven't a clue, but something isn't right," Ronon stated. "With him."

*************************************************************************

Moira shook her head. "What have you done, Matthew? Please tell me you didn't eat it?"

"Of course not, Moira! Do you think I'm stupid? Do you?"

"No, of course not! But you–"

"Drank it. I drank it. The secretions in water, like we were taking on the planet, but a more careful dosage. It's incredible, Moira!" he exclaimed to her stunned expression. "I've been able to do equations and postulations like never before! Did you know I traced the entire genome of the species we've collected? I've even found a new source for the crops we grow on the mainland, a cross-pollination that will increase our yield ten-fold!"

"Matthew, you can't! Don't you see? It's addictive! You'll build up a tolerance and just need more and more. How could I be so stupid?" she muttered angrily, recalling her use of the moss on John's injury. The water squeezed from the moss. Into the wound. She wondered if that explained his unusual, insatiable sexual hungers, not to mention his odd attitude. Her thoughts broke as Matthew grabbed her arms.

"Open it! Now! I know exactly what I am doing! I am a scientist!" He shoved her towards the cabinet but she fought free.

"No! You are a drug addict, Matthew! You need to get rid of this, now! Prolonged exposure will only make you worse! You won't be able to reason or to–"

"Open the damn cabinet!" he shouted, shoving her. She fell against the table, sprawling across it. Matthew stared at her. Suddenly he was behind her, shoving her face down on the table. "You will do as I say, Moira!"

"Let go of me! Matthew, please! Think! This isn't you!"

He shoved her down again, bent her right arm behind her back to make her cry out. "God you have a fine ass," he commented, gaze locked on it. "No wonder Sheppard was guarding it so zealously."

She struggled. "No, no!" Bent over the table she feared the worst. A complete reversal of being bent on her back, with John.

Matthew's free hand grabbed her rear. Squeezed. "Damn you have a sweet one, Moira." His fingers dug, yanking her pants to her hips. "Just how tight is that ass, hmm?"

"No, no! Stop! John will kill you!" she threatened. Struggled. But was pinned. Her arm hurting.

Matthew rammed himself against her, grinned. "I don't think so. Sheppard's not here now, is he? Not here now to keep that tight little ass all to himself. How many times, Moira? How many times has he fucked you?"

"Let go! This isn't you!" she demanded, but he ripped the back of her pants, fingers clawing at her panties, her rear. Trying to shove between her legs. "NO!" she screamed, shoved herself into him, crying out as they fell to the floor. She straightened her arm, rolled but he jumped to his feet. Grabbed her from behind and shoved her towards the cabinet.

"Open it! Open it now, Moira! Or I swear I will fuck that sweet ass of yours!"

"No! I won't open it!"

"You will, one way or another!" He thrust her into the cabinet.

Moira barely had time to shut her eyes, to squint before her head smashed brutally into the glass. Pain slammed as the glass cut across her face. A piece of wood crashed under her eye. Blood streamed down her face as Matthew hauled her back, dropped her to the floor. He dug into the cabinet, smashing more glass. Tore the panel off and threw everything aside to search for the moss. To collect it in handfuls. Stuffing his pockets.

Moira scooted to the wall, head dizzy and screaming with pain. Her vision a blurry, scarlet haze. She cautiously turned her head to see two Matthews stuffing the moss, all of the moss into his pockets. Her vision blurred, narrowed as he stepped to her.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it? Stupid, Moira, to refuse me." He squatted in front of her. "You should have listened to me."

"John..." she gasped. "John will kill you," she muttered, tasting blood in her mouth. Pain laced the side of her face, her head.

"That won't help you now, will it?" He rolled her onto her stomach. Fingered the tears in her pants, panties. Ripped them further until he revealed bare skin. "Such a lovely little ass. He must love bouncing on that. And I bet the rest is just as sweet, hmm?" He grabbed, squeezed. Bent his head to lick. To bite.

She groaned, unable to fight as she was reeling. Nearly losing consciousness now as the floor spun wildly underneath her.

"Beautiful," he said, stood. "Wish I had time, Moira. I'll come back for more."

Moira rolled onto her side, watched him leave the lab. Heard alarms. Saw Katie running to her, screaming. Then all faded to a scarlet mist. Then black.

**********************************************************************

"Niko!" John shouted.

"Sir? Shouldn't you be back here now?" Evan asked.

"Sheppard, let it be! You've got the girl, not him!" Ronon said, realizing the problem.

"What?" Evan asked, still baffled by his commanding officer's behavior.

The leader stepped out of the line of cavemen. Shaking a gun. Bellowing. Tattered clothes adorned with feathers, with skins. With moss. He gestured, looking round. At the ruins. Past John to the wary marines.

John smiled. "No, she's not here. No eso for you, Niko. No sex!" He pointed at himself. "Me. Me eso. Just me." He smiled remembering the native word.

"What's he saying?" Evan asked.

"He doesn't like rivals," Ronon translated, shaking his head.

"Rodney! Anything?" Evan asked, tapping his radio.

"Not yet! Where the hell is the Daedalus?" Rodney moaned. "Daedalus! Copy! Caldwell, we need to be beamed off-world now!"

Niko seemed to understand John's boasting. He growled, shouted in rage.

"Major Lorne!" came Rodney's voice on the radio. "I've got cavemen over here!"

"Go! I'll cover him!" Ronon offered.

Evan sprinted back to Rodney. Cavemen were moving towards them on the opposite side. "Shit. They're surrounding us. Where the hell is the Daedalus?"

"Come on!" John shouted. "No eso! Me eso! Me!"

"Sheppard, back off!" Ronon shouted. "Think! Moira's safe! She wouldn't want this!"

John blinked. Felt he was awakening from a weird daze. Only to find himself nearly face to face with a large, enraged, three-hundred pound cavemen. Who charged. "Crap." He swerved, whirled, pulled his handgun and fired. Fired, fell to the ground as a massive arm nearly beheaded him. He rolled to his feet as the cavemen surged in a screaming mass. "Go! Fall back to McKay! Go!" John ordered, running backwards and nearly tripping but Ronon grabbed his arm, hauled him as the men retreated amid the hail of gunfire.

"Daedalus!" Rodney shouted into his radio over the cacophony of bullets, of shouts, of screams. "Daedalus! Beam us now!" Rodney was still shouting as he materialized on the ship.

"Stand down!" Steven ordered. The marines lowered their weapons, relieved to be safe. Ronon smiled. John relaxed his grip on his 9mm.

"Where the hell were you?" Rodney demanded.

"Easy, doctor. We had radio interference," Steven explained.

"Probably the Ancient device," John realized. "When it was powered up."

"Expanded energy," Rodney noted. "That was too close! What the hell were you thinking, Sheppard?"

"I told you, we couldn't risk letting them loose on another–" John began to reiterate.

"That goes for me as well, sir. What the hell?" Evan demanded.

John met their angry faces. Sighed. "I'm fine now. Let's head back to Atlantis, sir. McKay can debrief on the way."

*************************************************************************

Moira fought. Shoving. Pushing. Clawing. "No! No! John! John!" she called, but hands caught her. Held her.

"Moira, Moira, love, I'm here. You're safe, safe!"

She calmed, blinked. Her face felt stiff. Body sore. She stared at Carson. The infirmary. "Carson..."

"Yes, love. No," he caught her hand as it touched the side of her face. "You're fine. You'll have a bruise under your eye, and only superficial cuts on your face that will heal in time. You were lucky, Moira. Very lucky. You could have easily lost an eye, or worse."

"Lucky?" she croaked. "I..." She groaned, trying to move.

"Pulled muscle in your arm. That's all. Nothing broken."

"I..." She colored. Stiffened. "He..he didn't...I fought him, Carson. He didn't–"

"No, he didn't," Carson assured, patting her hand. "Scratches. That's all. Son of a bitch."

"Where is he?"

"We can't find him." Seeing her consternation he added swiftly, "but we will. Atlantis is on high alert, don't worry. There's a Jumper missing. He probably went to the mainland. You're safe here, Moira."

"He's hyped on the enzyme, Carson! The secretions in the water. He's been dosing himself for days! Maybe ever since we got back!"

"So we figured. Rest. You are safe. John will be back in a few days," he soothed, but she wasn't comforted.

"No. He, he can't see me like this!" A surge of tears blurred her sight.

"He'll only care you are all right, Moira."

"No, you don't understand!" she argued, although part of her reluctance was based on his reaction to her. "He, he might still be affected by the enzyme too. We all are. Have been. I'm not sure how he'll react, he..."

"He seemed fine to me, Moira. Even if he was he won't be by now. He's not imbibing the secretions like Matthew did. Right? Don't worry. Rest. You're not going anywhere for awhile, and I have two marines on the door. Plus I'll be here with you as well."

"But, but John...he..." Her words paused. Thoughts scattering like leaves in a wind.

"He'll know what to do, Moira. He will make certain you are safe."


	5. Chapter 5

Survival Instinct5

Moira stared at the scanner in the control room. Various blips on the screen moving. Recording each resident. Each scientist at their station. Each marine in their search. The screen multiplied into different grids. Different sections. Full of blips now. Some moving. Some stationary.

"You see? This is their position." Radek Zelenka pointed to the screen as he zoomed in on one section. "There's no one else in the city. In any sector that has not been identified."

"Can you specify for one particular life-sign?" she asked.

"No. Not even for a particular subcutaneous signal either. Just general readings. But an accurate count. My guess is that he departed for the mainland. He will be more difficult to find. But they will find him," he reassured, glancing up to her dismay, distress.

Moira sighed. She looked up suddenly hearing the clomping of military boots. Male voices filling the air. John's among them. Quick strides heading into the control room. She saw John. Saw his glance at her. Saw his stare as he met her gaze. Saw him react. She shoved her hair over her face. Bolted like a deer from the area.

Moira was not a woman one would describe as beautiful. She was pretty. Pretty enough to have caught John's eye with her rich, long hair and her curves. But it had been her enthusiasm, her passion that had attracted him. The sparkle in her brown eyes. John's estimation had moved up quickly as they had become involved. His perception deepening towards beauty. Which only made what he had seen worse. He had gotten a quick glimpse. The side of her face red with long scratches. Bruises purpling. Jaw slightly swollen.

He abruptly sprinted through the control room without a word. Took the stairs two at a time, ran down them and swerved towards a short cut to intercept her. "Moira! Moira!" he called. He nearly slammed into the closed door of her room, barely missing her. He waved his hand over the panel but nothing happened. It was locked. "Moira! Let me in! What the hell happened to you? Moira!" he all but shouted. Slammed his fist on the door.

Moira leaned against the closed door. Felt the vibration as he banged his fist on it. Felt a rush of emotion, of tears. "Nothing," she said flatly, but a sob caught in her throat.

"Moira! You look like a saber-tooth tiger got you!" He winced at his words. "Sorry! Moira, please! Let me in! That was not nothing!" He knocked on the door.

"Go away, John," she replied.

"No! Moira!"

"Go away! John, please! Carson can, he can tell you," she attempted. Too tangled with emotion to see him. To face him.

"No! I want you to tell me! Open the door, Moira!"

"No! Go away!" she responded.

"Moira!" John tried to calm himself, to calm his voice. "Open the door," he stated. Her silence was unnerving. The flatness of her voice when she had spoken. Then the raw pain in her bitter tone. He knocked. "Moira? Let me in." He waited. Slammed his fist on the door again. "Damn it, Moira! Let me in!"

"No!" she cried, startled by his vehemence. His violence.

"Crap. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Moira, sweetheart, I'm worried about you," he attempted, voice lowering lest anyone overhear. "What happened to you? Who hurt you?" He touched the door.

Moira touched the door on the other side. "John, I'm fine. I just can't...please...you, you'll react."

"Of course I'll react! Moira, open the door!" he snapped, losing patience again. He glanced up and down the empty hallway. "I can have McKay override the lock, Moira! I can order him to override all those circuits!"

"No! Don't you dare!" she snapped.

"I can. I will! I'll shoot it open, Moira. If I have to shoot it I blast my way in. I have my P90 Moira, so stand back because that door is history!"

"No! I'm not moving, John, so if you shoot you'll shoot me!" she retaliated. Oddly becoming angered by his insistence.

"Fuck!" he swore softly. "At least tell me what happened," he tried to bargain.

She hesitated. "There, there was an accident."

"An accident? I don't think so. Open the door, Moira! I'm not going anywhere until you do."

"John, just go away! There's nothing you can do!" As desperately as she wanted to see him, to fling herself into his arms she was worried about his reaction. Both to her injuries and what he might decide to do about them.

"No! I'm not leaving this spot until you open the door! I can wait days, Moira! You know how stubborn I am! You haven't seen anything yet, baby!"

She smiled, but winced at the ache along her face. "Sweetie..." She sighed.

He debated. Demanding had gotten him nowhere. Ordering had gotten him nothing. He glanced up and down the hallway. It was still vacant. Quiet. "Open the door, sweetheart," he urged in a milder voice, trying another tactic. Ran his fingers up the door, as if he could feel her body only inches from his, but separated by an impenetrable barrier. He rested his forehead against the solid wood. Began to sing awkwardly. "Don't know much about prehistory. Don't know much about paleozoology. Didn't read much in a science book. Don't remember any of the Latin I took. But I do know one and one makes..." He paused as the door opened.

Moira stared, startled, enchanted by his awkward singing. The hint of a fine voice colored by embarrassment and discomfort. The way he had changed the words for her. Could imagine his chagrin if someone discovered him, heard him. She stumbled back from the opening, eying the floor. "John..." she whispered.

John stepped across the threshold, shut the door behind him. Her hair flowing over her face, concealing her injuries. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I wasn't quite sure how the rest went and I was running out of words."

Her control broke at his gentle admission. "John." She moved to his arms shyly. Suddenly hugged him, fighting tears. Held onto him tightly, hiding her face against him.

John enfolded her gently, kissed her brow. "Tell me, Moira."

"On...on the enzyme," she began, voice muffled against his chest. "The diluted secretions. I locked the cabinet so he couldn't...so he..."

"Who?" He gently moved her back a pace. Gently lifted her face to his. Gently moved back her hair. Stared in shock. The puffiness on nearly the whole right side of her face. The purplish bruising under her eye. The long red scratches slicing across her rosy cheek all the way to her ear. Along her jaw.

Moira watched the rush of emotions, reactions on his handsome face. His intense gaze. Shock. Concern. Worry. Puzzlement. Anger. A protective anger turning to a cold, cold hatred that caused a chill. A weird thrill to whisper along her body. A weird echo in her body, on the scratches on her rear.

His brilliant green eyes met hers. Hatred softening to concern. "Who?"

"He's gone. They think to the mainland but they can't find him. He either cut out his tracking device or disable it," she explained in an uncertain stammer.

"Who?" he repeated quietly. Intently.

She lowered her gaze but he touched her chin, lifted her face to his. Gently brushed his lips against hers. Across her unscathed left cheek. "Who?" he repeated in her ear, voice low.

"P...P...Parrish," she finally admitted. Oddly unable to say the name right away.

He was still. So still she touched his arm. Noticed the lack of the bandage. Her fingers ran up to the perfectly healed wound. Her brown eyes widened. "John?"

He met her gaze. Kissed her gently. Touched her scratches. She winced. He drew his hand back, slid his fingers down her arm. "Moira." Then he was gone. Swiftly turning and striding out of the room he had been so determined to enter.

Moira ran to the doorway, looked out to see him sprinting down the hallway. "John! John, no!" Her protest was halfhearted as she clung to the doorframe.

"Carson!" John shouted, furious. He ran into the infirmary, swerving deftly around carts and beds. Around nurses who nearly dropped their equipment and clipboards. "Carson!"

Carson inwardly cursed, turned to see John barreling down upon him like a man possessed.

"John, she's fine," he mildly noted.

"Fine?" John exploded, stopping before he crashed into the doctor. "She didn't look fine to me! Where the hell is Parrish? What the hell did he do to her? Tell me!" he ordered harshly.

Carson saw no reason to dissemble. "He threw her headfirst into the specimen cabinet to steal all of the remaining moss. Moira had a slight concussion, superficial cuts and bruises. A pulled muscle in her arm when he shoved her onto a table, along with other lacerations when he attempted to assault her. No, he didn't rape her," he swiftly calmed the alarm on John's face. "He wanted the moss more. Once he got that he left her alone. He took a Jumper and could be anywhere on the...John!"

John had whirled, strode out of the infirmary. Ignoring Carson's calls he made for the Jumper bay. "Lorne!" he snapped.

"Sir?" Evan hastened to him. "Are you–"

"Go to Moira's room. Guard her with your life! That is a direct order!"

"Moira? What the...yes, sir!" Evan agreed, seeing the glare John threw at him.

"Ronon!" John shouted. Waited until the Satedan had hurried to them, exchanging a puzzled glance with Evan. "You're with me. You are going to track this son of a bitch but I am going to kill him!"

"Okay," Ronon agreed. "Who?"

"Yes, who, sir?" Evan echoed.

"Parrish," John spit out, like it was a disgusting word. "Go! Guard her!"

"John! John, no!" The three men whirled as Moira awkwardly ran towards them. Hand pressed to her side. She skidded to a halt as Evan's gaze widened in shock, staring. Ronon likewise stared, but entered the Jumper, abruptly understanding John's fury. "John, please! You can't!"

"Moira." John moved to her as she hastily drew her hair over the right side of her face. "Lorne will stay with you. Protect you until I return."

"What? John, you can't go! Not like this! It's, it's not his fault! The enzyme is–"

"It's not? Really, Moira? There's no excuse for what he did to you. And there's no place in this galaxy he can go where I won't find him. Go back to your room and wait for me."

She caught his arm, pulled. Winced. "John, you can't–"

He gently freed his arm. "Go back to your room, Moira. Don't you worry. I'll find this bastard and I promise you he will never touch you again. Ever."

She gulped at his intensity. Wondered if Carson had told him everything. "John–"

He brushed his lips across hers. "Go. I'll be back by nightfall. This won't take long," he grimly asserted. He glanced at Evan, then boarded the Jumper. Closed the hatch.

Evan moved her back as the ship powered up, rose quietly off the floor. "Come on, Moira. What happened to you? My God, Moira! What on earth did Parrish do to you?"

"We...we can't let them go, Evan," she said shakily. "He, he may be on the diluted enzyme too. Who knows what he may do in that state."

"I know. Come on." He gently guided her out of the bay. "The bastard will get exactly what he deserves."

"Evan!" She stared, surprised at the ferocity of his tone. Looked away to hide her injuries.

"He will, Moira. You know it too. If Sheppard wasn't going to do it then I would have. Or Ronon. Come on. You should be resting, right?"

She hesitated, then took his arm. Pains flaring in her side, in her head as it throbbed. "Okay. I should be, be resting. It hurts...it hurts," she whispered shakily.

*************************************************************************

Rain fell in a persistent stream. Waving in the wind like a gray banner. Obscuring the pale light that was fading from the sky as night fell. Thunder crackled loudly in the heavy clouds. Deep rumbles that could be felt in the ground. The wind whistled in the trees.

"There." John paused, eying his handheld scanner. "I've got a life sign here. Has to be him. Can you track him in this mess?"

"Yes. This way." Ronon led. They stomped through the trees. Through the mud. Ignored the increasingly heavy rainfall pelting them. Making the ground slick. The wind lashing the boughs to hinder them, to smack into them if they weren't looking. Flashes of lightning illumined an abandoned Jumper. Ronon paused, pointed. "The ship. But he went that way. Recently."

"I've got something on this...but it's flickering. Shit. Bastard's changing." John saw the reading as it changed color, indicating whatever their quarry was it was no longer registering as fully human. Recalled he had registered like that when he had ingested significant quantities of the moss. The enzyme. He shoved the scanner into his pocket.

They broke out of the trees into a dim clearing. Long grasses waved like a woman's hair in the wind, in the rain. Like Moira's hair, John thought, shifting with the wind in long, soft tresses.

Rocks stuck out of the mud, making the walking more difficult.

"He's here. Somewhere." Ronon hunkered down to touch the soil. The grasses. "No more tracks. Could be the storm erased them."

"No, he's here," John agreed. Felt it in his gut. He just knew. He handed his P90 to Ronon as the Satedan stood. Gave over his 9mm. Relinquished his knife. "Don't interfere."

"All right."

John strode into the middle of the clearing. Mud splashed up onto his boots, his pants. He eyed the tree line surrounding them. Large swaths of darkness sporadically lit by the lightning. The wind shrieking in the boughs. Water falling nearly horizontally at times, threatening to blind him. "Parrish! Parrish, I know you are here!" John shouted. "I know what you did! Come out here now, you fucking bastard!"

Matthew stepped out of the trees. Moving lithely like a cat. "Sheppard," he said, not at all surprised. Or concerned. "You're not taking me back to Atlantis."

John smiled, adrenaline rushing. Sizing up the thin, tall scientist. Hatred coursing through him like a living, sentient thing. Muscles tensing. "No. I'm not," he agreed.

Matthew smiled. "You think you can take me? I'm twice the man you are! Twice as smart, twice as strong! Twice as fast! The enzyme gives me every advantage."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," John replied.

"I almost took Moira, you know. She is one fine piece of ass, Sheppard. From what I could see. I even left my mark on that tight little piece of–"

"Son of a bitch!" John growled, rushed him. Fists flying. Legs kicking. He landed several punches but Matthew fought with quicker moves. Harder moves. His fist landed on John's jaw, spun him round. He fell to the mud.

"See?" Matthew shouted, voice joyous. He kicked the prone man. "I'm better than even you, soldier boy! So why don't you run back to Atlantis with your tail between your legs!"

"You're just a drugged out botanist!" John spat, tasting blood. He moved to his knees. Experimentally shifted his jaw.

Matthew laughed. "That may be, but I am twice the man you are! Right now I could kick your ass like no one has ever kicked it! Right now I could fuck her better than you could ever–"

"Go to hell!" John lunged, slamming into the other man. They fell into the mud. Into the long grasses which flattened underneath them. John punched savagely. "You will never touch her again!" he vowed. Matthew kicked John, flung him to the side. John rolled with the blow, came up behind Matthew. Grabbed the botanist by the neck and forehead. Savagely twisted. The snap of the vertebrae was a quiet crack against the concert of the storm. "Fucker."

John dropped the dead man to the mud. He caught his breath. Winced at sudden aches. Wiped the blood from his mouth, leaving a muddy trail across his jaw. He looked over at Ronon as the lightning lit the scene with a horrific intensity. A bluish glow revealing the dead botanist, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. John standing above him, drenched in water, in mud. A savage satisfaction in his narrowed gaze. Wordlessly he walked over to Ronon. Took back his weapons. Sheathed the knife. Holstered the 9mm. Carried the P90 in one hand.

"What about him?" Ronon asked. Surprised. Impressed.

"Let the fucker rot," John stated coldly. He stuffed some moss in his pocket that he pulled from Matthew's body. "Let's get out of this damn rain," he harshly grumbled.

************************************************************************

Moira jumped at the thunder. She stared out the window. The glass was pelted with rain. Weeping with the storm. She anxiously paced. Opened her door. Evan turned to her. "It's been hours! What if something has happened?"

"I'm sure the colonel is fine, Moira. He's got Ronon for backup."

"But, but Matthew is hyped on the enzyme! He'll be no match for, for John," she worried.

"You've got that right," Evan agreed.

"What? Then you should go to–"

"No. I meant that Sheppard won't have any trouble with Parrish, no matter how much of the enzyme he's on. Trust me, Moira. You saw Sheppard. He's sufficiently inspired to handle Parrish without any trouble."

"When, when he brings Matthew back here he'll be in the holding cell, right?"

"I don't think he'll be coming back," Evan informed her gently.

"Who? John or Matthew?"

"Matthew."

"You mean, you mean..." She stared, appalled and relieved all at once.

Evan nodded. "Go to bed, Moira. I'll be right out here. You are safe now."

"No. I'll wait for John. He said to wait for him...he..." She closed the door.

*********************************************************************

John and Ronon exited the Jumper. Paused as a squad of marines met them. Looked past them. Then among each other, faces puzzled. Curious. Elizabeth neared. Looked past the two men as well. "Where's Parrish? Couldn't you find him?"

"We found him," John simply stated.

"Then where is he?" Elizabeth asked. Glanced at the Jumper. Inwardly winced thinking of the body being inside.

"He didn't make it," Ronon said. Shrugged.

"He didn't..." Her disbelief faded as she realized what that meant. Elizabeth looked at John's rough appearance. Bedraggled. Muddy. Wet. Bloody. At Ronon's unscathed, untouched appearance. "I see. You didn't shoot him, did you? We could have helped him. Gotten him off the enzyme in some way to restore his–"

"No. I didn't shoot him. He didn't want to come back to Atlantis. And I wouldn't have let him anyway," John explained.

Elizabeth sighed. "You wouldn't let him? John, you exactly hold him responsible for–"

"Of course I can! I saw what he did," John said, biting back his anger. Surprised at Elizabeth's defense of the man.

" Well, we can at least take his body to the morgue. Wilson, go and–"

"He's not in the Jumper," Ronon supplied.

"What? Then where...you left him out there?" Elizabeth asked, eyes widening in shock. She stared at John, as if seeing him for the first time. At least this side of him. The coldly calculating, ruthless side. Murderously efficient.

"Yes. Animals like that deserve no better," John replied. "We can discuss this tomorrow. Wilson, stand down. There's nothing more to do here," John ordered.

"Yes, sir!" The marine nodded, exchanged glances with the rest. All staring at their commanding officer in surprise. Admiration. Assessment.

"John! I can't believe you–"

"Tomorrow, Elizabeth. I'm too tired to argue right now. Ronon." The two men headed out of the bay, as Elizabeth and the marines stared after them.


	6. Chapter 6

Survival Instinct6

Evan stood in the hallway. Directly outside of Moira's room. He listened to the storm raging outside. Watched the flashes of lightning zigzag across the floor. The walls slightly trembled with the booms of thunder. The rain a noisy lashing against the walls. Hands stuck in his pockets he still could not quite believe what had happened to Moira. What Matthew of all people had done.

Hearing the steady sound of boots clomping on the floor he turned. John was headed for him. "Sir? Did you apprehend Parrish?" The question was answered by a silent look. Evan blocked John before he could knock on the door. "I don't think so, sir."

"Let me through, major," John said mildly. Ignoring how wild, how unkempt he must appear.

"With all due respect, sir, are you yourself yet?"

"Completely, major. The question is do you want to be the next guy trying to come between Moira and myself?" John inquired, a thread of threat in his voice.

Hearing John's voice Moira opened the door. Stared. John was dripping wet. Soaked to the skin. The t-shirt and pants clinging to every inch of him, every muscle, every bulge. Dark hair plastered to his head, sparkling with raindrops. Muddy. Dirt streaking along his clothes, his arms, his face. Bruised. Bluish shadows on his stubbly jaw. Traces of blood on his shadowed chin. On the corner of his mouth. Battered but still standing.

John met her gaze. Brilliant green eyes solemn. Assessing. "Moira," he said. His voice a low, almost hoarse caress against her skin.

John was handsome. There were other more elaborate words to describe his incredible good looks, his vitality, his vibrancy, but Moira always thought that one word summed up his physical attributes very well. One could even go so far as describing him as beautiful, but there was a rough, masculine edge to him that precluded any suggestions of prettiness or softness. Moira was just one among the rest who had noticed the incredibly handsome colonel. But she was intrigued by the man beneath the gorgeous exterior. The funny, snarky and smart individual. The complexities she was glimpsing as she got to know him.

And as he stood in the hallways, dripping wet, weary and bruised there was a feral, nearly dangerous quality to him that made her both hesitant and attracted all at once. Moira found her voice. "It's all right, Evan. John." She held out her hand. An invitation.

"Sir, I don't think that's such a good idea right now," Evan attempted, but John's gaze was locked with Moira's.

"It will be fine, Evan," Moira insisted calmly. Voice soft as if she was trying to soothe a wild animal. "John," she repeated.

Evan reluctantly stepped aside. John took her hand into his. He entered the room, moved past her. Behind her. "Are you sure, Moira?" Evan asked, turning towards the door.

"Yes. John would never hurt me. Thank you, Evan." She closed the door, locked it. Turned slowly to see John staring at her still. His gaze on her face made her uncomfortable. Nevertheless she took his hand again, led him to the bathroom. She chose a washcloth. Soaked it under hot water. Tended his raw knuckles. Tended his bruised jaw. His mouth, wiping the blood away with gentle, gentle strokes. He sat on the toilet seat, still silent. Moira knelt, tending his cuts, his bruises. Until the second cloth came away cleanly.

"John..." she said carefully, eyes on the second cloth now. Still on her knees in front of him. "Is, is Matthew in the, in the city now?"

"No." His one word answer, so quiet. So definite. John touched her cheek, gently ran his thumb over her skin. Felt the cuts jaggedly marring her cheek. He stood. Drew her to her feet. Swung her off the floor into his arms. Causing her to gasp in surprise, to grab onto him. He carried her to the bed, laid her gently upon it. He switched off the lights. The room was plunged into darkness only illumined by the faint city lights fighting against the rainstorm. By the flashes of jagged lightning piercing the sky. He sat to yank off his muddy boots and socks. Stood to remove his dirty pants. Peeled off his soaked shirt. Felt a chill on his naked skin. Leaving only his boxers he laid next to her. Stroked her hair. Kissed her gently.

Moira was surprised, alarmed. Caught between fear and longing she remained on her back. Stared at him, trying to see his expression in the dark. Afraid of what he had done. Afraid to ask, yet relieved that Matthew was not in the city. Longing for John's warmth, his comfort.

"Moira," he finally spoke again. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He turned her head to one side. Grabbed the moss from this pants. Laid back next to her. Ran the plant over her bruises, her scratches, squeezing the moisture onto the injuries. "It will help you heal. Faster." She turned her head back to protest but he straightened her arm, ran the moss along her sore muscle. He slid up her shirt and ran it over her sore ribs, side.

She winced at the pain. At the water trickling. The moss tickled. Was cold. The liquid spilled onto her skin, into her pants. A flash of desire surprised her as she stared at him. Captivated by his serious expression. She touched his arm, ran her fingers up to the gunshot wound that was no longer there. "Your arm?"

"Yes." He met her gaze. "Anywhere else?"

"No," she lied, blushing. Hoping the darkness hid her embarrassment. Anxiety.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Not quite believing her.

She shifted, couldn't help herself. "Yes." She closed her eyes as tears threatened.

He relented, set the plant aside. Kissed her gently. "If there are any side effects they will be mild. And I'll be here to take care of them. Of you."

She smiled despite her discomfort. "I'll bet you will, colonel."

He smiled. Kissed her again. Opening her lips to his. Hands running over her breasts, down to her hips. Dancing over her crotch. "Moira," he said into her ear, pressing next to her. He slid his arm over her waist, hid his face in her hair. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I wasn't here to protect you."

"What? It wasn't your fault, John! Don't be silly! It was mine. I should have realized...I should have guessed sooner...I..."

"No. Not your fault. Sleep. Go to sleep," he urged. Breathing in the scent of her. Whispers of vanilla. Hints of strawberry. The feel of her soft, warm body warding off the chill of his own.

"John?" She stroked his arm, torn between a weird sexual desire and the comfort of his warmth, his body, his care. "John..." she had to ask at last, had to know, "did you...did you...did you..."

"Yes," he replied against her skin.

"You, you killed–"

"Yes," he repeated. Kissed her throat. The taste of her skin. He stroked her side gently.

She stared at the darkness. Appalled. Relieved. A thrill vibrated. That he had killed for her. To protect her. She caressed his arm, fingers playing along the skin. Along the dark hairs. Suddenly aware of his nearly naked body pressed next to hers. His slow breathing against her skin, her hair. "How? How did you...kill him?"

He closed his eyes. "I snapped his neck," he answered quietly.

She swallowed, trying to imagine the scene. Was silent. He shifted against her. One of his legs slid over hers. "Oh," she finally remarked.

"Are you disgusted with me?" he asked.

"No! Of course not, John! You, you..." She sighed.

"That's all that matters then," he muttered.

She turned to him suddenly, ignored the pain in her side. "John, John...will you stay with me?

I mean just for a little while. Just for a little while?" She snuggled against him, fingers on his chest, pressing herself to him.

"I'll stay the whole night, Moira," he soothed. "Now go to sleep."

"Just for a little while, John," she assured. "John, do you, do you want sex?"

He smiled at her hesitant voice, the unexpected question. "Yes. But not now. You're not healed yet, Moira. Go to sleep. I'm staying the whole night with you. Don't you worry."

Moira stirred, woke abruptly feeling a man spooning against her back, her rear. She sat up, heart hammering. John's arm slid into her lap. She looked at him, realizing. Relaxing. Staring at him as he slept. His bruised knuckles. She stared at his hands. Imagined them snapping Matthew's neck. The same hands that had so gently caressed her. She slipped off the bed as an ardent desire startled her. She moved to the bathroom, switched on the light. Examined her face. The bruising already appeared lighter. The scratches not as harsh. The swelling looked smaller. She flexed her sore arm. Lifted her shirt to prod her ribs. She switched off the light, moved back to the bed. Laid next to John. Nestled against him. Kissed him. "John."

John muttered, shifting. Ran his hand up her thigh, tugging the pants until he settled. "Moira. No one will hurt you," he soothed.

She ran her hands over his chest, waist. Down to his boxers. Smirked at the pattern of plum and blue stripes. Her fingers caressed. Stroked. A smile came to his lips. "Do you want sex, John?"

"Moira, I love that question," he muttered. Catching her hand he drew it off him. Met her gaze, saw her amusement. "No comments about my undies, baby."

"Sorry, John...but they are very–"

"None," he scolded. Smiled. "When you are better, Moira, we will have sex." He kissed her. Turned onto his other side, fighting his own temptation. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You could never hurt me, sweetie," she soothed. But cuddled into his back. "When I'm better."

"That's what I said, silly. Don't tell me that enzyme is already affecting you." He waited until she had fallen asleep. Turned onto his side towards her, held her close. Thinking. Recalling the fight with Matthew. Imaging what Matthew had done to her. Examined the rush of emotions he had felt. Was feeling for her despite his best attempts to sidestep them. To direct them elsewhere, to make them less emotional, more sexual. Less rather than more.

Once he was certain she was sound asleep he slipped off the bed. Pulled on his muddy, wet clothes and boots. Moved to his room, encountering no one in the hallways. He took a long, hot shower. Water beating on aching muscles. Stinging on cuts. Pounding on his body as he tried to clear his head, his thoughts, his emotions.

Moira woke alone. She sat in the bed, rubbing her eyes carefully. Touched her scratched face. It was sore, itching, but not as painful. Her headache had receded to a dull throb. She stared at the door as it opened. Quickly she drew her hair over her injuries, uncomfortable in the morning light filling the room. John smiled at her. Clean-shaven, hair combed. Dressed in clean clothes. A black t-shirt and blue pants. "John?"

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Oh...here. I want you to have this. It's about time you had one."

"What? A gun?" she guessed.

He smiled. "That too. But no." He sat near her, showed her an earpiece.

"I already have one of–"

"Not like this one you don't. One tap and you'll be talking to me. Only to me. This is rigged so it only transmits to mine, and mine to yours. One tap. Two taps and it functions like the other ones, for citywide." He slipped it over her left ear, moving her hair back. He glanced at her scratches veiled by her hair. "You look better already. How do you feel?"

"I noticed that too. But my injuries weren't as severe as yours, John, so the healing may be faster. Being shot is much more serious than being thrown into a glass cabinet."

"I still can't believe that son of a..." John caught himself. "Sorry. Go back to sleep. Call me if you need me. I've got to see to Weir, then drill some new recruits. I'll be in the city all day, Moira. So whenever you need me just call."

"You, you won't be in trouble for, for what you did on the mainland?" she asked.

He kissed her. "No. It was my call. I don't really care if I am."

"But you should! John, you, look, I can talk to Weir if you need me to help–"

He smiled. "No. You stay clear of his, Moira. All right? Everything will be fine. Remember, one tap is just me. Got to go to work."

"Um...okay, John. One tap."

"One tap. Any time, Moira."

****************************************************************************

John entered Elizabeth's office. Shrugged as she met his gaze, a look of surprise on her face. "I figured," he stated. Closed the door and took a seat. Reclined almost lazily. Hands folded in his lap. Waited.

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile briefly, despite the severity of the situation. "I was just going to call you. I sent a team to retrieve Parrish. The body is in the morgue now. The least we could do is to give the man a decent burial." Chiding.

"The very least," John sourly noted.

"John! I do understand. I know that you were partially under the enzyme's influence. Carson said as much to me."

"He did?" John asked in surprise. Straightened in the chair.

"Yes. But still...I think you should have made more of an effort. You could have brought Parrish back here. For treatment. Once we weaned him off the enzyme he could have faced charges. Been sent back to Earth. You did not have the right to act as judge, jury, and executioner. We have to maintain a law and order even out here."

"I disagree. As acting military commander I am the law out here. For both the military and for the civilians. Did you see what he did to Moira? What he tried to do? What he could have done to her?" He fought to keep his voice from rising. His anger from rising.

"Yes. And I agree that his actions were unconscionable, even under the influence of a foreign substance. But you shouldn't have gone after him, John. You have to remain impartial, as the law here. We had teams combing the mainland. We would have found him eventually."

"No. I had to go after him." John paused. Wondered what to reveal. What not to reveal. Knew he was walking a fine line here. Decided. "My primary job is to protect our people out here. Even from each other, when necessary. Especially the civilians. Actions like those perpetrated by Parrish will not be tolerated. No quarter given. Don't get me wrong, Elizabeth. I'm not apologizing for what I did. Not at all."

Elizabeth stared at his earnest face, his voice solemn. "Even so, you can't go running off like that and just...just..."

"Killing him? Yes, I can. I did. I will again should the need arise. Don't forget where we are, Elizabeth. We don't have access to courts or jails or laws. Not really. Things need to be done out here. To be seen to be done out here. To show that we protect our own. Even from each other."

She considered, frowned. "I suppose you have a point, John. But still–"

"No." He stood. "Do what you need to do, Elizabeth. Whatever you decide I'll accept. But understand I did what I had to do. And I'll do it again, should the need arise."

*************************************************************************

Moira felt better. After a long, hot shower. After putting on clean clothes. A comfortable green faded shirt. Black pants. Much better as she could feel the enzyme in her. Giving her an added zest. Additional energy. Hunger as she filled a tray. She sat at an empty table and began to eat, turning so her injuries were facing a wall, partially concealed by the shadows and the fall of her hair. Still self-conscious about them. She glanced up in surprise as Ronon joined her.

"Hi." He began to eat.

"Uh, hi. Ronon."

"You look better."

"I feel better." She hesitated. "Ronon...were you with John when he...um, when he–"

"Killed Parrish?" Ronon finished for her. "Yes."

She shifted as a wave of desire flushed her body. John soaked with rain. Muddy. Dirty. Bruised and scratched. "Did you...I mean, would you have intervened if you needed to?"

"Yes. But I didn't need to."

She hesitated again, staring at her plate. After a few more mouthfuls she ventured, "How? How did he do it?"

"Snapped his neck," Ronon answered, eating heartily. Not at all disturbed by her questions. Amused by her hesitations.

"How? I mean...um..." Moira blushed at her insistence.

Ronon smiled. "Like this." He raised his hands, thought again and grabbed a bagel to demonstrate. "One hand here, at the jaw. Behind the guy. One hand here at the forehead. Jsut so, a quick, powerful twist." He wrenched the bagel in half. Dropped the two pieces to his plate. "Instant death. Painless." Seeing her stare at his food he asked, "Do you find fault with that? Parrish was a mad dog, worse than an animal. Had to be put down."

She swallowed. Visions of John's animalistic appearance from the storm, from the fight in her mind. Imagined the scene. The primal instincts to kill. To protect. "I don't find fault," she answered softly. A surge of desire made her take a long drink of water.

Ronon smiled. "Good. It was necessary, Moira. From now on every man will give you a wide berth."

Moira sighed, shifted. Drew her hair across her right cheek. "I know. I...it's better than being stared at, I guess."

"No," Ronon asserted, shaking his head. "I didn't mean that! I meant because of Sheppard. Because of what he did for you. What he will obviously do to any man who–"

"What? No, no! No one knows about...that is, he doesn't want anyone to..." She stood. "I have work to do. I can't stay here." Abruptly she left, disturbed.

************************************************************************

John sat on one of the cots in the infirmary. Impatiently swinging his feet off the floor as he waited. Frowned. Watched Carson as he checked the blood he had just taken. John glanced over at the covered body many beds down. Had seen the marines and their expressions. Their surreptitious looks directed his way. Impressed by his deed. Respectful. Seeing him in a whole new way, he was sure. "Well, doc?" he asked, sighed. "Can I go now?"

Carson shut off his microscope. "I can almost safely say you are clear of the enzyme. It's difficult to detect in the bloodstream, but your adrenal levels are normal. Noticeably lower than before you left on the Daedalus."

"Are you going to write me down as being under the influence last night? Like you suggested to Elizabeth? Because I wasn't," he admitted. "Not really."

Carson stood, walked to him. Met his gaze. "I know," he agreed. The two men eyed each other as an understanding passed between them. "Just to be safe I'll say you were, John."

"Thanks, doc."

"I saw firsthand what was done to Moira. You'll get no blame from me."

"Thanks, doc," John repeated. Jumped to his feet. "Elizabeth doesn't understand. Which I find very odd. Her being a woman and all, you know. You'd think she would be more sympathetic."

"Aye, you would. She doesn't know all of the facts, thought, does she? About you. About Moira. About you and Moira."

"No...and I'd like to keep it that way," John insisted quietly. "I've got work to do."

**********************************************************************

"Carson?" Moira entered the infirmary. Found it empty. She froze, seeing the covered body on the slab. She veered towards it. Already knowing the identity of the corpse. She touched the sheet, gingerly slid it back. Stared at the dead man. Matthew's oddly angled head. His neck broken. Garish bruises on his pale, lifeless face. Dried blood creating rusty brown stains around his mouth and eyes.

"Moira! You don't have to see that!" Carson rushed to her, covered the dead body. Shook his head at her actions. "What on earth are you thinking?"

"I had to see," she stated. An odd relief at seeing her attacker dead was replaced by guilt. She imagined the fight. The violence should have appalled her. Instead it aroused her. She knew it was the enzyme but couldn't help it. "Carson?"

The doctor was staring at her face. He drew her to a bed. "Sit. What have you done, Moira? I'm going to take some blood. But I fear I already know."

"Must you? I didn't do anything, Carson," she truthfully stated.

"Oh?" He drew the blood, making her wince. Tended her arm. "Hold that, there." He folded her arm up to apply pressure. "You're just healing unnaturally fast on our own now, are you?"

"No. John...he used the moss. Just a little, like I did on his arm. I didn't know when I did it that it would alter his–"

"But he did. Does." Carson sighed.

"It's just a little, Carson! I feel so much better now! The pounding in my head is gone. I'm healing. Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yes, of course. But there's the enzyme. Not a lot, but still it must have seeped into your open cuts, Moira," he scolded. "Not that I expect you to become violent or anything, or addicted, but still...I wish we could somehow separate the healing properties from the enzyme's more deleterious affects. The chemicals are too tightly bonded. Moira?"

Her gaze had drifted past him to the covered body. "What? Sorry, Carson. Can I go?"

"Yes, go." He smiled. "John's suspended from off-world travel. Until I deem otherwise."

"Thank you, Carson." She blushed, but stood. "I've got work to do."

**************************************************************************

Claws lay scattered on the table. Moira sat, chin in hand. Miles away from her work. Focus targeted on one man. Emotional contemplation turning to physical as her body reacted. Reacted. "Moira?" His sudden voice in her ear made her whirl, nearly fall off the stool. She realized it was the earpiece and smirked at her surprise. She tapped it once.

"John?"

"Just checking," he said. "Where are you?"

"The Wraith lab. Trying to work."

"Trying? Are you feeling all right?" John gestured as the men studied the Wraith weapons. He was in the shooting range. Preparing to train them in the use of the new equipment.

"I feel fine, John. Well, that's not entirely true," she admitted. Laughed softly. "John," she said in a sing-song voice, drawing out his name. "Are you busy?"

John smiled, but schooled his expression. Covered the earpiece with his hand. "Johnson, no! The beam is at fifty percent. There. Sight along the front. It's not like ours."

"Jo-hn," she called again. "What are you doing?" She shifted on the stool.

He uncovered the earpiece. "Training, Moira. I'm in the middle of something."

"Hmm. You could be in the middle of me, John. Well, more specifically in me. Mine. Now."

He smiled. "Not now, Moira. Get that pert little ass to work."

"But you said anytime, John. You did," she pouted. "I'm serious, sweetie. I'll be waiting."

Ignoring her with an effort he moved to the line of men. "All right. Target one. The most vulnerable spots are highlighted in green. Target those. Train your weapons. Go."


	7. Chapter 7

Survival Instinct7

Moira waited in her room. Paced. Paced. Sighed. Finally laid back on her bed, trying to quench the rushes of longing. Need. Lust. Her body inundated with sexual tensions, memories, hungers. She bent her knees, rocking. Feet flat on the bed, tapping impatiently. Waiting. She considered. Smiled. Tapped the earpiece. "Jo-hn," she sang warmly.

John nearly dropped the gun he was holding, avoided shooting off his foot by the barest of inches as his finger slid off the trigger. Her inviting tone whispered in his ear, along his body. "Go again," he ordered the men. "Switch here to automatic rounds. Go." He stepped away from the line of marines as the air resounded with weaponry. "Moira?" he asked, tapping the earpiece.

"Who else? No, don't answer that. John, are you still busy?"

"Yes, Moira," he answered with a quick smile.

"Strawberries, John," she tried to entice, to lure.

"Behave yourself, Moira," he admonished. Licked his lips.

"I don't want to behave, John. Not at all. Tell me, Colonel Sheppard, are you stroking your ordnance right now?"

"What?" John coughed, lowered his voice. Her voice purring in his ear, drawing out his name in breathy adoration.

"Are you stroking that big, hard, long ordnance of yours, colonel? Because I thought that was my purview. Will you let me take the stick, John?"

He laughed, but coughed to cover the sound. Looked over at the men. "Next target," he ordered, trying to sound serious. Stern. But her words were producing other reactions. "It's the enzyme, Moira. You can take the stick later," he assured quietly.

"I know it's the enzyme, silly. But I want you, John. I need you. Why won't you come to me, John? You, you killed for me. I know I should be upset, but I'm not. Oh John...don't you want me?"

"Of course I want you, Moira, just not now," he replied, listening. He turned suddenly. The men were waiting. Eying him with gazes of curiosity. "Yes? Next target. Do I have to hold your hands?" he snapped. "Change to the Wraith stunners now! See how they handle."

"Ooh, I'd love to see how your ordnance handles, John. Such big, hard ordnance...oh sweetie, come to me," she wooed.

He waited until the sounds of weaponry covered his voice. "I can't come right now, Moira. Damn that stuff works fast," he muttered. Torn between amusement and irritation. Between duty and desire.

"What? You can always come, John, can't you?"

He laughed. Sighed. "Moira, please!"

"You can feel it too, can't you? Don't be so stubborn, sweetie. Don't pretend your ordnance isn't ready to deploy. Hmm...fine, John. Be that way. Guess I'll have to do this without you."

"What?" He stepped away from the men. Listening intently now. "Moira?"

She moaned, made little whimpering sounds that she knew would arouse him. "Oh John, oh John, this bra is so tight. The lace is rubbing on my nipples...so rough...I would prefer your tongue....oh, that's better. Much better," she teased. Smirking as she stared at the ceiling, hands folded on her waist. "That feels good...but not as good as your hands, John. Can you feel it?"

"Yes," he rasped. Turning away from the men to listen as his body reacted. He licked his lips, imagining the scene.

"Oh John," she moaned. "My side feels fine. My ribs don't hurt. I could take a man's weight on me. In me. Over and over. Oh, I'd better check that too. Such tight, tight panties."

John suppressed a groan. "Moira, please. Don't go there," he said tersely, but wanted her to do just that. Pictured her on her bed. Her hands roaming all over her naked body. He shifted his stance as desire pulsed, pulsed.

"Sir? Colonel Sheppard, what next?"

John inwardly swore, pushed down on his growing erection. He turned. "Another round. Cross check. Go for the kill-shot. Target farther back. You need to penetrate," he paused, regretting the word but feeling a vivid anticipation too, "the most vulnerable area. Go!" He tried to keep the strain out of his voice. Waited. Waited. Frowned. "Moira?" he asked, stepping against the wall. Into the shadows.

Moira smiled. Knew she had him. Had only to reel him in like a fish caught on a hook. Considered. "Penetration, John. Hmm...you seem to know the concept but are oddly reluctant to act upon it. I'm certain your big, hard ordnance can penetrate my sweet center, can't it? Oh, oh John, oh John," she whimpered, moaning as if they were indulging in actual foreplay, "it's so tight, so wet. Oh right here, John, so open now...so slick and hot...oh God, oh God...oh John. John. John!" she repeated his name in a breathy crescendo as if coming. Breathed heavily into the earpiece. "Oh John...thank you, colonel. I guess just your voice was enough to bring me."

John was frozen, listening raptly. Imagining the most erotic, explicit pictures in his head. His body nearly thrumming with desire, with lust now. Wanting her. "Moira? Moira?" He smiled. Knew exactly what she was doing but didn't care. Unable to resist. Unwilling. He strode to the line of men. "Peterson, continue. I've been called away on urgent duty."

"Yes, sir!"

John strode to her room, forcing himself not to run. His long strides reached her door in record time. He didn't bother to knock. Opened the door. Entered and closed it behind him. Stared at the bed. At her on it.

Moira laughed at his disappointed expression. "What were you expecting, John? To find me naked, spread-eagled on the bed? Ready for the taking?"

He grinned, eyes roving over her fully clothed body. He met her gaze as her hands rested primly on her waist. "At the very least I was hoping to see a show, baby." She laughed. He moved to her, sat close. Touched her knee. "Damn it, Moira! What the hell was that? More importantly do you still require my services or did you achieve what you needed?"

She smiled. Caught his hand on her knee. "Hmm...you had your chance, John. You can't keep a woman waiting forever, you know." She sat up. Kissed him. A long kiss to savor his mouth. The feel of his full lips. "Maybe I'll give you a second chance."

"You better, baby. You've got me ready for lift-off just by your delicious mouth," he stated.

"Damn, Moira!"

"Damn, John!" she rejoined. "Are you going to talk all day or do–"

He kissed her, hard, shoving her onto her back on the bed. His hands wandered roughly. "Are you sure, Moira?"

She sighed. Pulled him closer. "Yes, John! Do I have to spell it out for you, sweetie?"

He laughed. "Yes. Why don't you, baby? Explain it to me in very explicit terms." He slid his hand between her legs. Groped to make her squirm, moan. "Ah...you weren't kidding, were you, Moira? Ripe and ready."

"John! Don't do that unless you mean it, please," she complained, as his fingers caressed and stroked, arousing her wildly.

"Oh, I mean it, Moira. I always mean this." He kissed her again. His fingers undid her pants. Unzipped. Slid into them to caress against the damp underwear. She moaned softly.

"Colonel Sheppard?" The voice in his ear interrupted. He jerked upright. Swore. Met her amorous gaze. He moved his hand but she yanked it back to her. Opened her legs to give him more access. Lifted slightly, a murmur in her throat.

"No, no, flyboy, you promised me!" she scolded. "At least bring me, John! Bring me!"

He groaned as she guided his fingers into her panties now. Shifting. "Fuck. Moira, I–"

"Colonel Sheppard? What's your twenty?"

He smothered a laugh, leaning down to kiss her deeply as she laid back again. His fingers caressed, probed boldly. She gasped, murmured at his touch. "My twenty is in Moira's sweet, sweet center," he answered gruffly against her skin.

"Copy, sir? I didn't catch that."

"What is it, captain?" John snapped. His fingers froze. He touched her lips with his other hand. Silencing her.

"We've finished ordnance training, sir. What are your orders?"

"Penetration, John," she whispered, moving his hand off her mouth. She kissed it, ran her tongue along his thumb.

"Penetration," he repeated. "Oh shit," he realized. She laughed softly as his chagrin, his mock glare at her.

"Copy, sir? Pene–"

John replied sternly, "Penetration, like I said! Entering enemy territory. Forming a perimeter. Practice run on the fourth quad. Get Major Lorne to–"

"Maneuver, John," she teased. Taking his forefinger into her mouth and sucking it. Hard.

"Maneuver," he repeated, groaning as she was bringing him mercilessly. "And oversee the training. I'm tied up here and will be for awhile."

"Do you want me to tie you up, soldier?" she asked. Freed his finger. Drew it down across her breasts to feel her hard nipples poking the t-shirt. She sat to kiss him.

"Copy? What? Repeat," John said, too distracted to hear the man. He freed his hand from Moira's. "Baby, cut it out," he mildly scolded.

"Sir, I asked if we are to use regular ordnance or–"

Moira swore. She clicked her earpiece twice. "You heard your orders, captain! Regular ordnance! I've got the colonel's considerable ordnance in hand! Now go!" She shoved John onto his back. Yanked down his zipper on his pants. She pounced onto him, kissing him passionately. Tongue gliding into his mouth, then out. Nibbling on his lower lip as her body squirmed on his.

"Sir? Sir, who was–"

John switched off the earpiece, removed his, hers, threw them both to the table. Laughed heartily. Rolled so she was beneath him. "Damn, Moira! All right! You have my complete attention, baby. Full penetration to commence as soon as I can get you out of those clothes."

She smiled. "Now that's more like it, colonel!"

************************************************************************

John rolled onto his back, breathed deeply. Exhausted. Happily so. He could feel the sweat trickling along his body. The room was warm. He could smell the sex hovering in the air. The perfume of their repeated intercourse clinging to their bodies, to the bed. He flung his arm over his eyes, closing them. Licked his lips as thirst seized him. He opened his eyes to glance at his watch. Closed his eyes again. "Over an hour," he muttered proudly. Smugly. Impressed at their mutual stamina. As eager as she had been it had taken forever to bring her, longer than it had to bring him. He wondered if she had deliberately delayed, delayed the climax to prolong their union. Their intimacy. Their pleasure. Recalling her ecstatic cries he grinned.

"John." Moira swallowed, exhausted. Hot. Sweaty. Thirsty. She stared at the ceiling. Feeling sticky. Body still pulsing with the pleasure. Climax after climax. She turned onto her side towards him. "I'm sorry."

He laughed weakly. "Sorry? You never have to apologize for sex, Moira. Never! Especially sex like that."

She colored, felt the wetness of sweat, of spent semen trickling along her. Felt the echoes of him inside her, along her. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "Damn enzyme,"she muttered.

He laughed again. "I don't know what's better, Moira. One beer. Or that damn enzyme."

She hit his arm, causing him to laugh again. "It's not funny, John! I've...I've been thinking..."

"I know exactly what you've been thinking, sweetheart. I have no complaints, Moira."

"Good to know, John," she sarcastically noted. He laughed. "Nor do I. I mean..." His renewed laughter made her sigh.

"I know that too, baby. It's a wonder no one came to check on you. Those sounds..."

"Hilarious, John!"

"It is, Moira," he refuted her scolding.

She touched his arm, his bare chest. Kissed his lips. "John...I'm serious now. Are we...I've been thinking. Are we..."

"Are we what, Moira?"

"Are we having too much sex?"

He lowered his arm. Met her gaze. Bit back any glib reply seeing her serious expression. Brown eyes solemn. Despite being naked in bed with him. Despite appearing disheveled but sated. "Too much sex?" he repeated. She waited. He turned to her. Stroked her shoulder, her bare arm. Glancing down at her breasts before meeting her eyes again. "You mean because of the enzyme?"

"Maybe..." she conceded, shrugged.

He kissed her. "Maybe," he echoed. "Honestly, I don't think that is possible. For us. To have too much sex. Not enough, but never too much."

She saw the contained merriment in his brilliant green eyes. Frowned and rolled away from him. "Oh never mind!"

He laughed at her anger. Pulled her back against him but paused. Eyes lowering to her back, to her rear. "Son of a..." he muttered.

Realizing her mistake she tried to roll onto her back but he gently moved her onto her stomach. Ran his hand down to her rear. Ran his fingers over the scratches, the oddly shaped semi-circular mark he realized with a start was a bite. "John," she cautioned.

"That fucking bastard!" he swore furiously. Quietly. He freed her as she rolled over to face him.

"It's nothing, John! It doesn't matter! Please, it's nothing!"

He kissed her, moving her onto her back, sliding over her. "It does. It does! Although I guess not now. Now that the bastard's dead. You should have told me, Moira!"

She ran her fingers along his hair, face, jaw. Lips. "No. John, don't be upset. It's over now. Nothing happened. Like that. Nothing..." She took a deep breath, released it. "I'm fine."

"I know. It could have, though! Damn it! I should have been here! Just the thought of that fucking bastard touching you like that–"

"Ssh." She kissed him, pulled him closer. "It's not your fault, sweetie. Please. John..." She kissed him again, hands stroking his arms, his back now as he began to return her affections. To move along her body. "John? You've got to be kidding me!"

He laughed. "Yes. At the moment. See? We don't have too much sex. Enzyme or no enzyme, Moira." He slid partially off her to recline, relax. Hold her close.

"Maybe, John. I can't think clearly right now."

"That makes two of us, baby."

"I suppose you have to go. Supervise the training or whatever."

"Yeah. Whatever most likely. I'd rather stay here. In case you become overwhelmed by the enzyme again and start to harass me over the comm."

She laughed. "Harass? You loved every minute of it, John. Hell, you were ready to go full throttle before you even touched me!"

"True," he agreed with a smile. "Geez, Moira, maybe we are having too much sex."

She shoved him.. Scrambled off the bed. "Men!" As he laughed she quickly dressed, yanking on her underwear and clothing with practiced efficiency. "This is going to be awkward."

"Awkward? You seemed to get back into your clothes pretty damn fast," he complained. But sat up and did the same.

"Not that! Let me think, John. What are you going to say? I couldn't finish training the recruits because I had to have hours of amazing sex with Moira?"

He laughed. "Hour. Only an hour," he corrected, "but yes, that's pretty much my excuse. You needed help keeping your lush ordnance in check so I complied. That is my job. Simple."

"Simple? Not to mention if anyone happened to walk by and heard us during our, um, ordnance check. I should have remembered to shout oh John Anderson."

"Hilarious, Moira. And not funny. But you have a good point," he realized. "Shit. I'm the one who wanted to be discreet in the first place." He frowned, thinking fast. "Okay. We can salvage this situation. I'll go to the physics lab and say there was some kind of emergency, or perceived emergency there. Since there usually is. You just go back to the bio lab and pretend that you were working in the Wraith lab. No one goes down there anyway. Moira?"

She was staring at him. "Salvage? John, what's the point? I mean...I mean...you, what you did to Parrish. Surely that threw discretion out the window?"

"No, nearly so, but I salvaged that as well. We're good to go, Moira. Don't you worry."

"I'm not worried. You are! John, what is the big deal? Would it be so terrible if other people knew we were together?" Suddenly she drew her hair over her injuries.

John caught her hand, moved her hair back from her face. Kissed her lips gently. "No. I told you, Moira. I want my private life private. Our time together private."

"Why? Do you already have your next lots some woman lined up?" she flared.

He frowned. "No, of course not!" He stood. "I don't line them up. They come to me. Like you did. Remember?" Seeing her startled uncertainty he quickly added, "Moira, no. I didn't mean it like that! Honestly!" He sat, took her hands into his. "If, if you were just another lots some woman then I wouldn't care by now who knew."

"Because it would be over?"

"Um...yeah," he admitted. Glanced at their hands. Uncomfortable.

"So you're saying because I'm not just another lots some woman you do care. You care who knows?" He nodded. She frowned. "That doesn't make any sense, John. I don't understand. Why are you so worried that we–"

He kissed her, cutting off her words. His. Stood. "Just humor me, Moira. All right?" he said sharply, embarrassed by his revelations. "I can't explain it. I won't. I've got work to do."

"John! You have to explain it! John, what is the big–"

"Tonight. Yours. Don't push it, Moira," he warned. Abruptly left the room.

Moira stared after him. Bewildered by his words, his actions. Determined to get to the bottom of things one way or another.


End file.
